


true unity is an Art

by luna65



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Older Woman, POV Third Person Omniscient, Recreational Drug Use, Touring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22718245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna65/pseuds/luna65
Summary: The boys meet someone adjacent to their world...and a wiser perspective can be helpful in any number of ways.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 5





	1. Welcome to the whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> This is a derivative work, inspired by to_the_disco's "The Boys and a Woman" but it's my own version of the idea (with the central premise substantially altered), although I do use their story as the basic structure in the beginning; so some of the scenes are different versions of the originals, but there are elements which are wholly unique to my story, as I took a more real-life/technical path in terms of the industry and being on tour (as I do have some knowledge in that area) because to me that's one of the most interesting parts of the concept. It's actually more a story in which GVF appears rather than takes center stage, so to speak. The main character is the same age with a similar occupation to the original OFC. But this story goes off in a different direction fairly early on, so while I do acknowledge this is a derivative work, it's also quite different to its' inspiration. It's more about the experience of the touring life for a woman in her mid-30s rather than hooking up with any of the boys. And that might not be your bag, fair enough, but I enjoyed taking the knowledge I have and putting it to creative use.
> 
> Many thanks to my dear friend edgyspice for providing _her_ real-life knowledge of working as a professional artist.
> 
> Hat tip for to_the_disco because I think it's a really interesting idea and I appreciate the inspiration, even though I went in a completely different direction. The perspective shifts around a bit in the beginning and I apologize to whomever finds that maddening, but I was really trying for a "fly on the wall" kind of feeling with this one.

Josh wandered down to the hotel bar, which was suitably staid for the type of place they were inhabiting for the night. They were used to partying at the venue or in their rooms but sometimes a guy just wanted a quiet drink, rather than the beer and wine they were generally imbibing. He took a seat at the polished oak expanse and after producing his ID was rewarded with a Salty Dog. He sipped it, appreciating that the barkeep wasn’t stingy with the vodka or the salt, and nodded his head to the vocalese coming from the direction of the grand piano. Sam would know the tune, as Josh would be the first to admit jazz was just a bit beyond his comprehension, though when Miriam sang jazz... _oh baby!_ He hummed and wiggled a bit as he drank and crunched handfuls of the Cajun mix on offer. This was a waiting game...but after scanning the room he surmised most of the other denizens would likely not recognize him.

And speaking of old folks... _aww dude, that’s not fair!_

Josh chuckled and signaled the bartender. She stood before him with a pleasantly inquisitive expression.

“I’m in room 324,” he whispered, flashing his key card. “Can I get another to go?”

“As long as you can pay for it, bud.”

He smiled and placed a $20 on the bar. She gave him a to-go coffee cup and he blinked at her.

“Has to be a secret, or else everybody would do it. I’m lettin’ it slide ‘cause you’re a cutie.”

He flashed her his famous grin and took pleasure in her blush (he and Jake both had a thing for charming older women) as he tipped her another $10 and sojourned back to his floor. The band and executive crew had most of the rooms on the right side of the elevator, and he moved in the direction of the loud music. He passed by a door which had been propped open with the room’s desk chair - which took some doing because hotel room doors are fucking heavy - curious to hear the line _“I don't suppose they told you anything in Denver about the tragedy we had in the Winter of 1970.”_ He mouthed the next line _“I don't believe they did.“_

_Who was this?_ he wondered. _One of ours?_ He took a chance and rapped on the door, calling “Here’s Johnny!” to the occupant(s) within. He was greeted with the sight of Maise, a graphic artist of his recent acquaintance. She smiled at Josh and he smiled back, recalling their so very meet-cute literal run-in at the venue…

Josh was walking back to the dressing room from the bathroom, feeling like his jumpsuit wasn’t quite correctly adjusted, turning the corner distracted to be met by outstretched hands and a startled “Oh!”

A woman with honey-blonde hair streaked with rose-gold gave him wide blue eyes and an equally surprised open mouth. Josh liked her lipstick. _Is that what they call a nude lip?_ It was sexy.

“Ohmygodareyouokay?!” she sputtered. Her face scrunched up and he was immediately infatuated with her laugh lines.

“Oh sure doll, I was totally looking to run into you,” Josh replied, attempting glibness. She then cracked up and stopped being frazzled. He was glad she seemed secure enough not to apologize for being a klutz or anything.

“Yeah, well, I’m Maise - did Heidi tell you I was coming?”

“Oh yeah, to talk about packaging for the new album, right? I’m Josh.”

She giggled. “Uh, yeah - your attire proceeds you.”

He pretended to be crushed. “You don’t like it?”

“Oh no, it’s amazing. I mean, I can’t recall anybody else in the Year of Our Lord 2019 deciding to dress like a Tarot card.”

He laughed, shaking his tawny curls. “Or deciding to dress like **all** of them?”

Josh twirled for her appraisal and she giggled again. “Oh my god, you’re right, it’s the Major Arcana!”

“Very good, you must _definitely_ be an artist!”

She gave him a smirk and made an _after you_ gesture in the direction of the dressing room. 

“Allegedly.”

“Hey fellahs, look who I found!” Josh announced as they entered the main dressing room. His brother bandmates looked up to behold a woman with blonde hair in a sort of up-do with rose-gold strands framing her face. She looked a bit taller than average, but maybe that was just the effect of her chunky heels. Her outfit certainly vibed with their own retro aesthetic: a purply-pink crushed velvet wrap dress paired with patterned stockings and the aforementioned chunky-heeled slingbacks.

“Your dress is _amazing_ ,” Jake blurted out. “Whoever you are.”

“Well if you’d let me finish!” Josh groused. “This is Maise and she’s the artist from Lava.”

She gave the boys her best dazzling smile. “Hey guys. I don’t actually work _for_ Lava - now **that** would be so totally sweet; alas I’m just your basic starving freelance artist - but they’ve got me on spec right now for different projects and flew me here to meet with you.”

“For the album packaging,” Josh concluded.

“Oh!” the others vocalized with sudden understanding.

“And thanks Jake, I think it’s pretty amazing too. I love skater-skirt type dresses.”

“Are you liking _his_ ensemble?” Josh asked with a teasing grin.

“The whole Jimmy Page thing with the embroidered suit? Although that one is more applique, I guess. Yeah, it totally works because you’ve definitely got that vibe of the classic guitar hero.”

Jake didn’t hold back, the smile he gave Maise could have set the entire building on fire. She felt momentarily dazed within its’ beautiful heat. “Thanks, that’s totally what I was going for.”

She nodded back with a smile and _Wow, was this guy giving her bedroom eyes or what?_ Maise bit her lip, hoping the promised long-wear lippie meant just that.

“I could wear **my** suit!” Sam butted in like the baby of the brood that he was. “But it’s so frickin’ hot under the lights.”

“I love the lighting rig you’re using this tour, it’s really cool but it doesn’t distract anybody from what you’re doing.”

“I’m glad _you_ think so,” Danny replied. “It makes me dizzy sometimes if I look at it too long.”

“Yeah he’s fallen off his throne a few times,” Sam gibed and Danny elbowed him.

“Shaddup!”

“Oh I totally get it! It’s one thing to be in front of something like that, but it must be weird to be behind it, so it’s always, like, in your peripheral vision.”

“Exactly!” Danny exclaimed, and then he smiled at her and... _Oh my god are they all going to do this to me?!_ Because lord have mercy wasn’t **he** a stone fox, as it used to be said.

“But, you know, this isn’t about what you’re wearing or... _not_ wearing. I’m here because you want artwork for the new album, right? Like, in the tradition of the others.”

“We do!” Josh exclaimed brightly. “But we can discuss that later. Please, come in and have a drink. We’ve got -”

“Thirty-seven minutes,” Micah cut in helpfully, nodding at Maise.

“ - a whole thirty-seven minutes till we go on!”

They were all smiling and making motions of welcome and hadn’t _this_ introduction gone well, Maise thought. Even so, she mentally crossed her fingers and toes that they would want to work with her.

Josh and Maise momentarily lost track of whatever was supposed to be happening as they stared at each other. He wore a tie-dye long-sleeve with striped lounge pants, the pieces were completely different color schemes.

_Only you could get away with something like that, Joshie._

She wore a t-shirt printed with an image of a lotus overlaying the Flower of Life sacred geometry design, and paint-splattered sweatpants.

“Oh my god that shirt!” Josh breathed. “Can I have it?!”

Maise laughed and invited him in with a gesture. “No, but I’ll take the compliment?”

That grin... _Damnit she was going to cave anyway. Focus!_

“It’s gorgeous, seriously.”

“Why thank you, I made it as my final project in screenprinting class.”

“So you were an art major?”

“Yeah, Fine Arts and Graphic Design. With a minor in metal works, which for me meant making jewelry.”

“That’s really cool. My time was less than a year but I majored in Film Studies.”

She grinned, holding out a bowl of popcorn. “Of course you did! I figured you heard what I’m watching.”

Another grin. “Yup! Oh man, is that Chicago-style?”

She took a handful and nodded. “You know it!”

“I fucking love Chicago-style!” Josh eagerly took a handful and looked at the screen.

“Have a seat, if you wanna.” Maise gestured at the bed.

“Thanks. Do you always leave your door open like that?”

“I was having a bad case of FOMO, I guess.”

“You totally could have come down to the suite! I mean, you’re part of us now!”

Maise smiled, but knew that sometimes people said Nice Things just to be nice. The band had called Jason Flom himself after the show to proclaim she was hired for the gig, and he had authorized the travel expenditure so she could stay on the road with them for at least a week or two to discuss high concepts, but she would never kid herself that she was anything but a hired hand.

“Well, why weren’t **you** there?”

“I need, like, tiny increments of alone time. Half an hour is usually good.”

Maise nodded. “I tend to be a loner myself.”

Josh took another handful of popcorn. “This isn’t my favorite Kubrick but it’s, like, top five.”

“Yeah me too. I can never resist it if it comes on. Oooh, so did you see that documentary?”

“ _Room 237_ ? _Several_ times.”

“So what do you think of all those conspiracy theories?”

They sat cross-legged on the bed with the bowl of popcorn between them.

“Isn’t it, like, so amazing that there are _that_ many conspiracy theories about this movie?” Josh asked, quickly warming to the topic.

“Yes, like it’s a repository for obsessive thinking. It’s like it hypnotizes some people into going down the rabbit hole.”

“Oooh I like that, yeah! But I’d have to say that I don’t really believe the one about the faked moon landing. On the other hand, the Native American genocide thing? I totally buy that one.”

“Right?! It totally seems so Kubrick to be subtle but subversive by inserting social commentary into a horror movie that you have to decode.”

“ **Exactly!** Oh my god where have you been all my life? Are you seeing anyone?”

Just then their attention was drawn back to the screen as Danny Torrance experienced a “shining” episode in the Torrances’ apartment.

“Danny isn’t here right now, Mrs. Torrance,” Maise said in her best impersonation of the voice of “Tony.”

Josh turned to Maise again, his amber eyes wide and his stare delving into her soul. “Seriously, marry me. Better yet, let’s marry ourselves and deal with the legal bullshit later.”

Maise fed Josh a piece of popcorn. “You know what I really love about Chicago-style? It’s sweet and it’s salty, but then there’s also cheese.”

“It’s like a whole other layer of deliciousness.”

“Yeah. I’d marry you in an instant, Joshua Kiszka, but your parents might not want you to marry an older woman.”

“Older? How much older can you be?!”

“Oh you’d be surprised. Let’s not spoil the mystery just yet, okay?”

Josh nodded solemnly and now on the screen the Torrances were on their way to the Overlook, approaching certain doom.

A nice thing about playing a venue two nights in a row...everyone was either well-rested or extremely hungover. No travel day (or overnight) to follow, no load-out, you could pretend you were geographically fixed for the next 24 hours, at least. Jake considered his own status as _a little from column A, a little from column B_ once he stretched his legs post-soundcheck. The hallways of the theatre were rather maze-like and he kept ending up at various dead-ends until he found a door marked STAFF EXIT ONLY.

 _Well I’m on staff today_ , he reasoned, and pushed it open. The sunlight momentarily blinded him and he let out a loud “Fuck!” for having left his sunglasses in the dressing room.

“Awww dude,” he heard to his left and looked over to see their new artist Maise seated on one of the road cases stenciled with the Greta logo; a sight which never grew old for Jake, reminding him of the tracking shot in _Live at Pompeii_ when the camera circled around the back of the band’s setup, all those cabinets with PINK FLOYD. LONDON printed on them. The exit led to one of the loading ramps at the back of the theatre, and the top of the ramp was now crammed with empty containers. She smiled in sympathy and removed her Francois Pinton sunglasses, though Jake would have just called them “Jackie Os.” They complimented her jacket, which was an electric blue Chanel-style with the rounded collar, black trim and gold buttons. Very vintage, very fashionable.

She held them out to him. “Here, you look like you’re in serious pain.”

“Thanks,” he said, donning the soothing polarized lenses. “Now how I do look?”

“They’re maybe a little too big for your face, but the style is good. You can definitely rock the androgynous look.”

He smiled again, thinking of how he could compliment her in kind. With the shades off and the sun so bright he could see she was older than he originally judged her the night before, but she took care of herself and her makeup was adept enough that the effect was to enhance rather than conceal. He figured she was early 30s, maybe? Certainly not older than that.

“I love the color of your hair,” he said, and meant it. The daylight made it glow even as it was braided rather than loose and flowing. “Like, do you do it yourself or do you have a stylist?”

“You will pry the name of my stylist from my cold dead hands, man,” she teased, “But thank you. The guy that you and Josh go to is great, he totally knows what works for each of you.”

“I don’t let him do _much_ ,” Jake confessed. “I used to have way more complicated hair and finally I was all, ‘Fuck that!’ I mean, this is rock n’roll, right?” He flipped his wavy auburn tresses and hit her with the full shiny smile again. 

_Jesus fuck he’s going to kill me at this rate_ , Maise thought.

“Definitely. Your hair declares you are ready to rock and/or roll all night.”

“Yes ma’am!” he declared, then stopped himself from clapping a hand over his mouth. _Way to go, doofus._

“You want a little something for that hangover, Jacob?”

He grinned. _Check and mate._ “Depends on how much it’s gonna fuck me up, I suppose. I mean, I gotta show to play in six hours.”

“Nothing too heavy, just some medical-grade Chocolope. If anybody asks, it’s for my migraines. But also, it just smoothes the world right the fuck out when needed.”

He laughed. Jake liked the way Maise used profanity, more like a seasoning than a condiment.

“I could use a hit, sure, if you’re offering.”

“I certainly am, sir,” she said, removing an amber prescription bottle from her leather backpack. He got a glimpse of art supplies within as she unzipped it. She opened the bottle, which was long and slender, and shook out a tightly rolled joint. “You gotta lighter on you?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a disposable from his jeans pocket and doing the honors.

She drew heavily and held the smoke in her lungs for long seconds. When she exhaled through her nose it looked very elegant. Jake was impressed, and more than a little smitten. Maise passed him the joint and leaned against the back wall, stretching out her legs and wiggling her feet, sighing with pleasure.

“Oh baby, that’s the stuff.”

He took his own drag and after exhaling felt the effects almost simultaneously. A warm euphoric feeling circled his spine and made his scalp tingle.

“Nice!” he said appreciatively and handed it back. 

“You’re good?” she asked, and Jake nodded. Maise licked her thumb and forefinger and quickly extinguished the joint. “We’ll spark it again after the show, okay?”

He nodded again with a smile. “Wow, I **do** feel better.”

“Told ya. Some of the strains they cultivate these days are goddamn miraculous, for real.”

“You don’t really look like the type, though.”

Maise chuckled. “With legalization, anybody could be a stoner, you know? I’m not actually a stoner, I don’t think. But I _would_ rather smoke a doob than get drunk. The right kind of weed can really enhance my creativity. You know - I lock the door, spark one up, put on some tunes, get out my supplies and draw or paint or make some jewelry...that’s a good time for me. Do you like to do that? Get high and work on songs, or maybe just play?”

“For sure. But I really like to listen to music when I’m high. I feel like it’s just flowing right through me.”

“Oh yeah, like you’re totally immersed in the sound.”

“Yes, that’s **exactly** it!”

Jake was standing right in front of Maise now, not realizing he had moved toward her.

“We should do that tonight,” he said softly. “On the bus.”

“Yeah okay, sounds like an excellent hang.”

Jake removed the sunglasses and gently placed them back over Maise’s eyes. He smiled at her once more, thinking that he was going to do his damnedest to make sure that listening party was for them alone.

There was definitely a vibe going on before a gig - the building murmur of the audience as they came into the venue, the walk-in music on the PA growing in volume over time, the hustle and bustle of the crew and excitement among the bands - Maise had been to plenty of shows but to experience it from the other side of the stage was always interesting. She felt all a-tingle, not unlike first date jitters and the like. But her new clients told her they didn’t get nervous, this was what they were born to do, what they loved doing, so there was no expectation other than walking out to an ocean of love. And when it hit, Maise felt it too from her position on the sidelines.

They opened with “When The Curtain Falls” and she found herself swaying almost unconsciously. The crowd was also immediately into it, the air seemed thick with celebration. Hearing the music through the stage monitors rather than directly through the PA was weird too, she never truly realized how there was so much going on in a performance. She watched each of them in turn, focusing on particular characteristics: Josh’s sunlit grin, Jake’s confident pout, Sam’s ecstatic head toss, and Danny’s joyful wonderment. They were made to be looked at, portrayed, exalted. If she were painting them, she’d put them into a Maxfield Parrish landscape, Maise thought. Elegant and whimsical. Like gods who had stepped down from their mansions in the clouds, curious regarding those on Earth. But almost too beautiful for mortals to behold.

She was allowed to stand in the same spot for the entire set, thankful she wasn’t in the way of the techs or the monitor engineer (though he grinned to see her groovin’ to the tunes) and the time flew by; the boys came off for a breather before the encore and she was smiling so wide - in all her years of watching performances she couldn’t recall this feeling of specific joy to witness a band do what they did. After about ten minutes they returned with arms full of white roses and Josh handed one to Maise.

“And one for you, my dear,” he said, hitting her with that amazing smile.

She bowed her head as if it were her due, always. But inside she felt fizzy, champagne in her veins. They each walked on and when Danny passed by he grinned and she blew him a kiss. His eyes grew wide, his eyebrows shot up and her heart lurched.

_Geez, get a grip! But damn, just look at him._

His golden-hued skin gleamed with sweat and his muscles were rigid from the night’s labors. It was so easy to get caught up in adoring them all, she knew that now...and she also imagined any number of people had experienced the same emotional intensity to be up close.

Post-gig was a clamour of various agendas: local radio and the promoter, some press, some people the band knew personally, plus the executive crew and assistants always on hand. Maise decided to watch load-out because she’d never seen it fully performed at the professional level, going out to the seats and finding a place which wasn’t in anyone’s way. Their crew was compact: Front of House and his assistant, four guys on the backline, the Lighting Director and his programmer, plus three guys who handled the rigging and effects along with whomever they could acquire locally, either from the venue or the local Stagehands union. They spotted her triple-A lanyard and ignored her as they carried on with the last of their nightly duties. She appreciated how efficient they were even at the end of what was definitely a long day. After an hour or so, the stage almost completely empty of gear, she wandered out to the loading bay, where the doors had been propped open, letting in a chilly draft, as it was now after midnight. Maise cracked up to see the destination signs on the band and crew buses - the one for the crew read _Working Hard_ and the band’s was _Hardly Working_.

“Yeah that sounds about right,” she noted and was startled to hear a “What does?” from behind her.

Danny was now attired in skinny jeans and a t-shirt, rather a come-down from his beautiful brocade vest and shiny black pants, looking like he just might be any guy, Vans Slip-Ons on his talented feet and his hair swept up. But so attractive that he was anything but ordinary.

Maise chuckled. “You could start a whole new trend,” she said, pointing at his hair. “Instead of the Manbun, you’ve got the Danbun.”

He grinned and her heart clenched again. “Clever.”

“Here, let’s get a pic.” She pulled out her iPhone and snapped him in a purposely humorous but adorable pose, posting it to her business Instagram account.

_You saw it here first! @danny_gvf presents…#theDanbun #drummerANDfashionicon_

Danny’s phone chimed with a notification and he cracked up at her caption.

“I dunno...if the guys find out you called me that, they’ll totally refuse to believe it.”

“Really? But you guys _all_ look good, all the time.”

“Yeah but, I don’t really think about it, I guess. Not like they do. But the twins have always been into clothes and stuff.”

“Yeah I can tell, they each have a very distinct sense of style. But Danny, just because you sit in the back doesn’t mean that you can’t be fabulous, okay?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it. Hey, so I heard Ryan saying you were gonna sleep in the lounge on the crew bus. It’s not so bad, really. Sometimes I sleep in our back lounge if someone is snoring too loud.”

“Yeah I’ll deal with it. I packed light anyway, since I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“But it will be a while till we leave, so you wanna hang out on our bus? We’ve got all the leftover food and plenty of drinks and stuff.”

“Sure; I promised Jake I’d share my doob after the show anyway.”

Danny’s eyes got wide. “Yeah? He told us you had some good shit.”

“I do indeed. Lead the way!” She made an _after you_ gesture and followed Danny out of the venue and over to the band bus. There were fans waiting behind a barricade by the back entrance gate and he waved at them. Some of them waved back and called his name.

“If you wanna go talk to them -”

“We already did. We always take turns going out to say hi and stuff, sign autographs and pose for selfies.”

“You guys don’t do meet-and-greets, that’s interesting.”

“Yeah it’s a whole thing, like, if you work with a company that handles it they always insist you charge a lot of money and that’s just weird to us. Like, if people wanna wait after the show, or if we just happen to run into fans somewhere, it’s fine to have that moment. We did have one that was sponsored by one of the radio stations, that was nice - we all went on a hike.”

“That does sound nice!”

“Right?! That’s the kind of thing we’d be into in the long run, but on the other hand we don’t really have the time to do that stuff right now anyway. We all have press calls to make during the time you would normally do a meet-and-greet.”

They came up on the vehicle and Danny slapped a rhythm upon the bus’ conventional door. He stepped back and it opened outward. A grizzled beefy man grinned down at them.

“What’s the word, Drummer Boy?” he asked, his voice deep and boisterous.

“Hey Jim, this is Maise, she’s riding with us for a couple weeks, probably.”

“Well hello miss, nice ta meet ya.”

She shook his massive hand. “Hey there; let me guess, you’re the pilot of this chariot.”

He laughed. “That I am! Welcome aboard; c’mon in, it’s goddamn cold out here!”

Just as Maise was about to mount the bottom step they all heard a _Hey, wait up!_ coming from the direction of the venue. They looked over to see the others gesturing at them. But as soon as the Kiszkas broke cover, the crowd at the gate screamed for their attention. They began waving and walking towards the fans.

“They’ll be a while,” Danny said, placing his hand on the small of Maise’s back. Just that slight touch made her flush all over. “C’mon, if I don’t get first toke then I won’t get any at all.”

“And that would _definitely_ be a shame, Drummer Boy,” Maise teased.


	2. The Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A process of acquaintance.

No one else had made it onto the bus so Danny conducted a tour. At the head of the stairs he swiveled to his right and put a hand on the door which was marked with a DON’T PISS OFF THE DRIVER sign.

“Yeah so this is Jim’s domain and we know not to fuck with it.”

“Yep, gotta keep the big man happy.”

“Yeah he’s got his bunk in there too, so when we’re parked in the daytime we gotta make sure we keep it down on the bus so he can sleep.”

Danny then swiveled to his left. “So here is the front lounge, this is for the executive crew who bunk with us, so that’s Eric and Arthur, and the other Ryan, and Dave. And then there’s the kitchen -”

They moved forward into a kitchenette area with a fridge and microwave, cabinets and coffeemaker, plus counterspace crammed with various food and drink items. On the other side was a setup which looked like a picnic area with a long table and benches on either side.

“- and then the head,” Danny slapped the door of the bathroom twice with a smile. “ _Les toilette_ , as they say.”

“Where nobody gets to poop,” Maise observed.

“Yep, that’s rule number one for sure! And then -” he moved on towards the back of the bus, “- we’ve got the bunks for all of us. There’s the crew guys and two junk bunks we all share, then the bunks for us and Micah and Ryan, and _then_ the back lounge.”

“So I know the _other_ Ryan is your tour manager, who are the others?”

“Eric is our lighting guy and Arthur is the production manager. The other Ryan makes sure everything goes smoothly overall, but Arthur is in charge of what goes on during the gig. Dave is our Front of House engineer.”

“He makes sure you sound good.”

“Yeah, even in spite of ourselves sometimes.”

“So then all the other guys are on the crew bus?”

“Yeah. Now we can afford a slightly bigger crew and a bus just for them. The first tour where we had a smaller bus with ten of us, that was _brutal_.”

“I bet. Can you imagine how it used to be in the days when people were touring in Winnebagos and shit?”

“Oh my god!” Danny laughed. “But yeah, it’ll be okay, you sleeping over there; everyone is super cool.”

“Oh yeah, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Really? Were you in a band or something?”

Danny walked into the back lounge, flipping the switch for the recessed lighting, which sprang on. The space contained thick carpeting and couches lining three of the walls. The remaining wall featured a large-screen monitor and built-in media setup. Speakers were mounted into the walls throughout the bus, and Maise counted six in the back lounge, plus what looked like a subwoofer in the wall below the shelving for the audio/video/gaming equipment. There was a master remote velcro’ed to the wall next to the unit with a sticker warning: DO NOT LOSE ME OR YOU WILL LIKELY BE MURDERED.

“Damn!” she exclaimed, and put it right back where she found it.

“Yeah, Jim’s got the backup, but he said we’d be fined if we lost it so we’re pretty paranoid.”

Maise sat down in one of the lounge’s two captain’s chairs. “To answer your question, no, I wasn’t in a band. But I was the merch girl for a mid-level band for nearly five years. Designed it, printed it up, sold it at the gigs and on the website, got a cut of the up-front sales.”

“Cool! But you didn’t wanna do that, like, for a job?”

“It’s a grind. I mean, touring is a grind, right? You guys have been at it for a few years now. It’s hard fucking work and things like sleep, hot showers, decent food, can become luxuries and I figured there was only so long I could stand it, myself. But some people thrive on that kind of life - some of the guys on their crew had been in it for twenty years or more.”

“Yeah, Jim has been driving tour buses for just about that long, he told us.”

“Right. So, I had designed their first two album covers and I put together a portfolio and started networking, you know, trying to make some contacts at the majors. Finally someone put me in touch with someone else at Universal and they threw me a few gigs. It’s still not entirely enough to make a living, but my portfolio is looking better these days. I got my side hustles: I make jewelry and sell it on Etsy, I do freelance stuff for this one merch company who pays really well as far as the royalty rate, so I’m not totally starving. But you know, it would be nice not to have to pinch those pennies _quite_ so hard. It would nice to work for somebody who actually provides health care coverage.”

“Well sure, everyone wants to make a living doing what they love.”

Maise bit her lip, Danny’s naivete was touching but also strictly just that. “Yeah,” was all she said. She had to remember that although they’d been doing this for a few years, they were still so young. But how could she get mad at someone so adorable?

A thumping sounded from the other end of the bus.

“Sounds like your brothers have returned,” Maise intoned. She dug into her backpack and pulled out her prescription bottle. “But don’t worry, I won’t forget you’ve got first dibs on the Chocolope.”

Danny giggled. “Man, the names they come up these days!”

They heard a very loud **“DANIEL!”** once the door had been opened and Danny rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

Maise did notice Jake was being a tad pouty at having to share her miracle weed with the others, but they all enjoyed the time indulging and discussing music down to the minutiae.

“I was listening to ‘The Cold Wind,’” Maise said to Josh, “and what I want to know is: does the old man live?”

“What makes you think he was an _old_ man?” Josh asked.

“I guess because I was envisioning this man telling his oldest daughter to sell their only ox because he was going to die and couldn’t work the fields anymore.”

“Woah!” Sam exclaimed. “You had, like, this whole movie in your head!”

Maise grinned. “Yeah, I mean, I think I read it was based on a story you wrote or something?”

Josh nodded. “Something like that. But him living or dying isn’t really the point of the song, it’s just a moment in time.”

“Ah okay. Yeah, life doesn’t always have the kind of resolution we expect in a story.”

“Personally, I **am** going to have a happily ever after, even if it kills me,” Jake declared.

“And it probably will,” Sam rejoined.

“So did you guys wanna talk about why I’m here?”

“Tomorrow, darling, okay?” Josh said, and poured her more wine.

As Maise went to take the tiniest of sips they all felt the rumble of the bus’ engine as it started up.

“Whoops! Guess I’d better high-tail it next door. Okay, see you guys later!”

They all called out some variation of good night after her as Maise scooped up her backpack and matching medium-sized duffle bag and exited, walking over to the crew bus. The door was open and she approached the two men standing at the entrance.

“Hey there, I’m Maise Wells,” she said, flashing her lanyard. “I guess I’m bunking with you guys?”

“Hey, I’m Arthur,” one of the men said, extending a hand. His hair was close-cropped and he had what Maise thought of as an ex-military vibe. “This is Burma, he’s one of our techs.”

“Hi,” Maise replied and shook hands with each of them. Burma was a younger guy, his long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, accenting his sharp features and wiry build.

“We pretty much collapse when it’s an overnight, so the lounge is yours; and we gave you the spare bedding from one of the junk bunks, but if you want your own you’ll have to buy it yourself.”

“I will if I decide I can’t stand it, but I’m sure it’s okay.”

Arthur nodded at them as they moved to enter the bus. “See you later, try and get some sleep.”

Maise walked up the stairs and Burma followed, carefully closing the door behind him. This bus was also rumbling as it prepared for departure but was otherwise quiet, though she could hear low murmuring coming from the other end. Lights set into the floor on either side of the aisle glowed softly as all of the overhead lighting was off.

“When you’re ready just walk straight through, but I would advise if you’re gonna wash your face and brush your teeth that you don’t actually use the water from the tanks,” Burma whispered.

“Oh no,” Maise whispered back. “I know the drill.”

“Okay then. We request that if you can’t sleep and you want the light on then make sure you close the door.”

“No worries, I’m going to try to keep to your schedule.”

“‘Preciate it. Good night, then. Oh, and if you need to talk to the driver, the code to open the door is right there.” He pointed to the door of the front cab where a sign with a six-digit number had been taped below another sign which read WHILE YOU WERE WHINING I WAS WORKING. “Also, if you wanna get off the bus when he makes a fuel stop, then take one of these -” he pointed to a pad of hot pink Post-It notes which was also affixed to the door, “- write your name on it, and stick it on the door. That way Randy knows who actually got off the bus. A fuel stop is usually twenty minutes or so. If you wanna get off, it’s a good idea to go exactly when he does so you know how much time you have. Otherwise, you **will** get left.”

“Roger that,” Maise confirmed.

“Alright, we’ll see you later on then.”

Maise carefully and quietly made her way to the back of the bus, giving a whispered _hi_ to those few still moving around. She gently closed the door behind her and turned on the light, making sure the curtains were pulled in the back, then changed into a pair of long johns and an oversized t-shirt plus thick slipper socks with non-skid soles. She left her braid in and brought her toiletries bag to the bathroom along with a large bottle of water she had liberated from the band’s stash. It didn’t smell too bad inside, just the usual chemical scents of air freshener and septic tank treatment. She scrubbed her face throughly with a facial cleansing towelette, pouring water onto her skin as she leaned over the sink. She brushed her teeth quickly and rinsed out her mouth with another swig from the bottle. She patted her face dry with the trusty thick hand towel she always traveled with, because she was the kind of woman who _always_ knew where her towel was. Then she smoothed on a thin layer of night serum and declared her routine completed. The lighting in the toilet was **so bad** , she thought, looking at herself in the mirror. There was no freaking way she was ever doing her makeup in here. But it wasn’t like the crew cared what she looked like, after all, they were too tired to care about _anything_ except dragging their asses out of their bunks and doing their job all over again, day after day, sleeping through days off.

 _And that’s why you’re not doing it anymore_ , she thought, zipping up her case and opening the door as quietly as she could.

_But what if…?_

_What if nothing! Don’t even **think** about it._

Maise tiptoed back into the lounge and pulled the door shut. She opened the drapes and looked out at the city as the buses made their way to the freeway. She waved at Jim and he saluted her with a grin.

Maise’s eyes snapped open as the bus shook, slowed then braked, and she figured it was time for a fuel stop. She reached for her phone on the console table, the display showing just past 4am. 

_Yikes, I guess there’s no rest for the not-so-wicked this morning._

There was always the possibility of a nap once they reached the next venue, so she resigned herself to wakefulness and dug out a hoodie from her duffel bag, pulling it on over her sleepwear, trading her slipper socks for regular socks and Chucks. She grabbed her phone, checking to make sure she had her ID, debit card and some cash in the wallet section of the case. She also donned her lanyard, recalling one of the cardinal rules of Tour: _**Never** lose your fucking lanyard!_, and the easiest way **not** to lose it was to always have it on. Maise slowly slid open the lounge door and walked as quietly as she could down the aisle past the snoring crew, stopping to write her name on a hot pink Post-It and slapping it on the door of the driver’s cab. It took her a minute to figure out the latch on the big door but once she managed her brain fizzed with the sudden rush of cold air to her face.

“Whoo, good morning!” Maise exclaimed, but quietly.

The two buses were lined up in front of the diesel pumps, but there was no sign of either driver. Maise walked around a bit, stretching, trying to figure out where they had landed, but the truck stop was just off the freeway, so no road signs were visible. And one truck stop was much the same as another, although they usually had something unique. She remembered when she and her fellow crewmates used to keep a list of the special features of each truck stop on their route.

“Hey Maise!” she heard Jim call to her. “If you’re lookin’ for the ladies it’s thataway!”

He was pointing behind him to a large building beyond the gas pumps.

“I **do** need to pee, thanks!” She looked at her phone, noting the time and subtracting about ten minutes.

“We’re gonna take ‘bout half an hour, no need to rush.”

She waved and trotted in the direction of the RESTROOMS/SHOWERS sign. Afterwards she went over to the restaurant and met Randy, who was ordering cinnamon rolls for both buses.

“Ah, **that’s** the specialty!” she said, grinning.

“Yep.”

“Well here, let me get in on that.” She handed him $10 and he shook his head.

“It’s on Ryan, no worries. That’s why they pay him the big bucks.”

“I won’t argue with that!” She ordered a cookies-and-cream milkshake to go and waited at the counter with him. “So can I ride up front with you for a while?” she asked.

“Sure, if you don’t mind listenin’ to _Waylon & Willie_.”

“That’s fine, I’ll try not to cry in my milkshake.” He laughed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. She could tell Randy had once been a redhead, but his hair was mostly white now.

“Can’t sleep, huh? Don’t suppose you’ll be around long enough to acclimate.”

“Probably not. But I used to work on tours so I know what it’s like. It’s been a long time, though.”

“Well welcome back to it then, brief as it may be.”

A waitress brought out several clamshell containers and Maise’s drink; she helped Randy carry it all back to the buses where Jim pumped the fuel for both vehicles.

“Thanks pardner,” Randy called, and they enacted a trade. Jim made a bow then reentered his bus. Maise got back on board with the food and discarded the Post-It. Randy came inside and secured the door quietly.

“Just you, then?”

“Yep,” she replied, waving a hand towards the door to the cab.

They placed the pastries in one of the cabinets to await the occupants’ breakfast, then took their seats inside the cab.

“Let’s git gone, shall we?” Randy said as he flipped switches on the control panel and started up the bus.

“We shall!” Maise replied, holding her drink aloft.

She could see the other bus in the side mirror, watching as Jim rolled out behind Randy, but keeping a safe distance.

“Have you been driving these guys for a while?” she asked before taking a sip.

“Jim has, he drove ‘em last year when they finally upgraded to a bus. This is my first tour with ‘em. Real nice kids, and the crew is solid far as I can tell.”

“Yeah, I think the younger guys these days are pretty chill. I knew some lifers who were hell on wheels, though.”

Randy laughed. “I been with Ego Trips for a little over ten years, drove for Roadshow before that for fifteen - girl, I seen it all, lemme tell you.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it, sir! Things are way different than even back when I was working.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About five years, give or take. Did merch.”

“My sympathies, that’s a fair amount of humpin.’”

“It sure is. I mean, I was young enough to bounce back most days, but all that bendin’ and liftin’ and standin’ around, it’s a straight-up bitch when you’re havin’ a bad day, y’know?”

“A truer thing has never been said!”

They toasted, Randy with his coffee and Maise with her shake, just as Waylon began to sing a countrified version of “Gold Dust Woman.”

“Hold the fuck up, man, are you tellin’ me Waylon Fucking Jennings covered Fleetwood Mac?!”

“That he did, that he did.”

“Wow, **now** I know why he wanted Stevie to write ‘Leather and Lace!’”

“And I bet you thought you wouldn’t learn nothin’ today,” Randy deadpanned, and Maise laughed, completely content in the moment as the sky began to glow blue upon the horizon.

It was a little after 9 when the Greta fleet came up on their next stop: a theatre in an area adjacent to the downtown district, and conveniently right across from a fenced-in parking lot where they could park the buses for the day, as the venue only had space for the equipment trucks in the loading area. Randy told Maise that both he and Jim preferred finding somewhere away from the venue to park but on show days the band needed them nearby.

“I got me one of them sound machine apps on my phone and these special sleep headphones? Best goddamn investment I ever made.”

“Sleep headphones? Wow, how do those work?”

“They call ‘em _Bed_ phones, get it? Light as a feather, so if I end up on my side it don’t hurt my ears.”

“Okay I have **got** to get some of those!”

Once the buses had parked Maise went back to the lounge as the others stirred in their bunks. She pulled the door closed and latched it, then set about getting ready for the day, deciding to see how little makeup she could get away with, settling for tinted moisturizer, eyeliner and mascara, lip stain, and some strategically-placed concealer and bronzer. She brushed out her hair and pulled it back into a high ponytail after deciding on skinny jeans and a button-down cropped cardigan. If the day was cold she could always wear her lace bodysuit underneath which only _looked_ sheer. She pondered switching her Chucks for boots, then decided cute shoes could wait for showtime.

She tied the cord of her lanyard to one of her front belt-loops and grabbed her backpack, preparing herself for the collective scrutiny of relative strangers. _Again._

The crew was arrayed in the front lounge and eating area, the sugary gooey smell of heated cinnamon rolls heavy in the air.

“Saved you one,” Burma told her, gesturing towards the counter.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “Hey y’all, I’m Maise - I’m going to be doing the cover art for the new album, so I’m here to work on it with the band. Hopefully in a week I’ll be outta your hair.”

They all nodded and continued eating. Maise did the same, and noted that it was indeed a delicious cinnamon roll. Afterwards everyone stacked their plates and cups in a plastic washtub which one of the guys took off the bus to wash up inside the venue.

“Well, you can come hang out with staff or in the hall, just stay out of the way - but it looks like you already know how that goes.”

Maise nodded. “I figured I’d just go hang on the other bus.”

Burma chuckled, pulling his long hair back - it was nearly to his waist. All the crew were dressed near-identically in black t-shirts, black shorts or jeans, and they all had their CREW lanyards on.

“Boys won’t be up till after Noon.”

“Yeah I figured. That’s okay, I’ve got other work I can do while I’m waiting.”

The other shrugged. “Suit yourself, just be quiet about it.”

Maise saluted him, and was rewarded with a smirk.

“If you wanna eat with us, they usually bring us sandwiches around one or so.”

“Okay thanks.”

Burma walked off the bus first, heading across the street to the venue. The band bus was parked alongside the other and Maise climbed the stairs, seeing the door was open. The _other_ Ryan was on the phone in the front lounge, a portion of cinnamon roll in the opposite hand.

“Carrie, I need those comps _before_ the box office opens, we’ve got early arrivals today. Yeah, if someone can just go in there - there should be an envelope marked Friends and Family. No, nobody with lanyards, just tickets and passes. Yeah, that’s all we need. Okay you’re a doll, I’ll have one of the assistants over there at 3 then. Yeah, thank you, I’ll make sure there’s some extras for your department.”

He ended the call and finished off his breakfast. “Can I help you with something, Maise?”

“I’ve got work to catch up on, can I hang out here?”

“I’d rather have you in the Production Office, but we’re still setting up so I guess that’s okay. Please be quiet, though, Jim and the band are all asleep.”

“Yeah of course. I’m not going to be on my phone or anything.”

He nodded, grabbed a sticker-covered metal briefcase from the couch, and hurried down the stairs. As he walked towards the venue Maise could hear his phone ringing again. She pulled the door closed, careful not to let it slam. She seated herself at the dining table, removing a sticker-covered laptop from her backpack. She spent an hour checking her email, websites, and social media, plus composing a to-do list for the project, including a reminder to call Jason’s assistant Kali to arrange for a listening session, as it was always a good idea to hear the music even if the packaging was not going to be necessarily reflective of it. Then she pulled out her digital tablet, plugging it into the laptop and sketching a few random ideas, saving each to her hard drive. Lost in her musings, she was startled to hear a soft-voiced “Hey.”

Danny stood in the doorway leading to the bunks, clad only in pajama pants which hung on his hipbones, his hair a dark soft cloud around his head. She felt herself swallow hard to spy his treasure trail, even though he did spend a fair amount of time in a day mostly bare-chested.

“Morning,” she replied quietly. Her phone showed a little after 11. “You’re up early.”

“I always am.”

“There’s cinnamon rolls for you guys - Other Ryan had Randy buy them earlier at the truck stop.”

“Oh those really big ones? They’re so good!”

“Yeah, I had one too.”

“Awesome,” Danny declared with a grin, coming into the kitchenette and opening one of the containers on the counter.

Maise closed down her tablet and placed it in her backpack. She checked her Instagram account and the post of Danny already had over 300 likes. There were comments by people with Greta-related usernames which gushed praise, many of them contained multiple heart emojis.

**_KING!_ **

_So adorable, in this house we stan the Danbun._

She snickered as she read them all, looking up to see Danny smiling. “What? Is there a new cat TikTok or something?” he asked.

“No, just your fans proclaiming their love for the Danbun.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah? Sammy’s bun is more popular though. He really _does_ have nice hair.”

“He does! I’m gonna have to grill him for his routine, his skin is flawless too - so unfair.”

“Right? My sister is always after him to find out what he’s doing.”

“How old is she?”

“She turned 18 this year, started college. She’s way into volleyball and stuff.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah we’re both jocks.”

“I read you are quite the golfer.”

The microwave dinged and Danny removed his breakfast. “Oh dang this smells so good!”

“I’ll make some coffee,” Maise offered.

“Oh no, you’re not here for that, I’ll do it. We’ve got some vanilla creamer, I think, if you don’t take it black.”

“Okay.”

“But yeah, I’ve been golfing since I was a kid. I started competing in middle school, I lettered in JV as a Freshman, which was pretty rare.”

“Wow, you must be good.”

Danny chuckled as he prepared the coffeemaker for brewing. “I _was_ , yeah. I’ve been out of practice for two years now, though. I mean, I still play whenever I can but there’s a difference between just playing and competing.”

“Oh sure. I never played any sports myself in school but I get it. I used to date a drummer who was a jock too, he played basketball in high school but gave it up when he was in college.”

“Did he study music?”

“Yeah, he was an Instrumental Studies major, he played in the orchestra and all the ensemble groups.”

“If I’d gone to college, I wanted to major in Recording Technologies.”

“So you wanted to be an engineer?”

“Well...maybe not, like, for my _life_ , but I figured it would be a good skill to learn and stuff.”

“Totally! So would you have still played golf?”

“I don’t know; I think I would have tried anyway. But we ended up getting signed so quick once we changed managers, so…”

“Yeah I mean, that was the dream, right?”

Danny nodded as he brought his food over to the table. “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.”

Danny’s phone chimed and he focused his attention on it while he ate. Maise got up and poured them each a cup of coffee when the brewing cycle was finished, adding a bit of creamer to hers.

“Oh thanks. So when did you get up?”

“Hours ago, I’m not used to sleeping on a bus anymore.”

“Yeah that’s gotta be weird. So the guy you dated, was he in the band you were talking about?”

“Oh no, it was before I had that job. But I got that job because I knew him. You might know who he is?”

“Yeah?”

Maise pulled her up personal Instagram account on her phone and scrolled through the page, looking for a particular post she had made earlier in the year. It showed her standing on a beach in Hawaii with her ex, clad in a tropical print bikini and adorned with a lei. He stood nearly a foot taller, also wearing a lei and garishly-patterned board shorts. They were both grinning at the camera in a typical couples pose.

_#tbt #tenyearsgone #missthatbikinibodytho_

“This was ten years ago. I mean, he hasn’t changed that much.”

Danny’s eyes grew wide. “Uh yeah, I think I do? I mean, I know the band if it's who I think it is, I just don’t listen to them myself.”

“Yeah okay. That’s him, since you asked. We’re still friends, kinda. I mean, he’s been in his current relationship for years now; they have a kid, even. So we just wish each other well, that kind of thing.”

“You haven’t changed that much either, I would say,” Danny observed, continuing to stare at the photo.

_Oh shit, way to go genius - show the client a photo of yourself in a bikini? Yeah that’s **real** professional._

“Uh well...that’s nice of you to say. But my relationship to swimwear has _definitely_ changed.”

Maise watched Danny blush, his skin flushing, blinking as he looked at the remains of his breakfast.

_Like maybe he wanted to say something like I wish it hadn’t…?_

“You’re _beautiful_ , you know - we all think so.”

Maise put her fist under her chin to keep her mouth from dropping open. Just then a raspy voice she identified as Sam’s piped up from down the aisle.

“Do I smell cinnamon rolls?!”


	3. Designations and appellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q & A...of a kind.

Sam grinned widely to behold their breakfast guest, and it was not the first time it occurred to him that it would be nice to see a friendly female face first thing in the (relative) morning. Maise was totally cute for sure, though he was beginning to suspect that she was on the far end of her 20s. He was cool with that, he had always been attracted to older girls. He was happy when Josh went off to college and started bringing his new friends around the band, most of whom laughed _at_ him as well as _with_ him, but that would soon change.

“Howdy ma’am,” he greeted her, figuring it was a quick way to judge her reaction to that particular title.

“Howdy pardner,” she responded in a silly drawl and they all cracked up.

Danny placed a cinnamon roll in front of Sam and he took the biggest bite Maise had ever witnessed from its gooey dripping mass.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Danny said, snickering. “He goes crazy when it comes to sweets.”

“I can totally relate,” Maise replied. “So have you guys talked at all about what you want to do for the cover?”

“Is this so you can write this trip off on your taxes?” Sam asked after chewing and swallowing. “Like, we have to talk business for 15 minutes or whatever?”

Maise laughed. “Nah, as a freelancer I’m on the job no matter what. But seriously, I **am** ready to do some actual work now.”

“We let Joshie handle that,” Sam replied. “I mean, we all can draw and stuff -”

“Not me!” Danny demurred. “LIke, not without a ruler or a compass or whatever.”

“ - but he's the one in charge of our visual concept - that’s what he calls it.”

Maise nodded. “Makes sense, that’s how it usually works in bands. There’s always one person who’s really adept at that kind of thing, how people should dress or what kind of artwork to use for stuff. Like David Robinson in The Cars, or Roger Waters in Pink Floyd.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Sam enthused, then took another massive bite of his breakfast.

“Can you teach me to draw something?” Danny asked, and when Maise looked over at him, his expression was shy but flirty, biting his lower lip ever so slightly.

“Sure...like what?”

“Uh, like nature stuff I guess.”

“Happy little trees?” Maise teased and they snickered. “I love how Bob Ross became a patron saint of Gen Z thanks to Twitch.”

“Well then that’s your dude, right?” Sam asked.

She giggled. “No, I mean you two - you’re both 20, right?”

They nodded.

“So you’re Generation Z. I’m a Millennial, but an older one.”

“So how old -” Sam began, but Danny smacked his arm.

“Samuel, you don’t ask a lady how old she is!”

Maise laughed loudly, then clapped a hand over her mouth, worried she’d woken Josh and Jake.

Sam waved a hand. “Don’t worry, they talk shit about **me** being oblivious, but those two can sleep through _anything_.”

“It’s okay Danny, I don’t have a problem with it. I turned 34 this year. I mean, how old did you _think_ I was in that photo?”

Danny flushed, pursing his lips. “Uh...I dunno, like, 18 or something?”

She grinned. “Wow, really? Thanks!”

“What photo?” Sam demanded to know.

“Never mind, sir,” she said, then winked at Danny.

“Okay so if you’re a Millennial, does that mean you’ve got one of those weird names or whatever?”

Danny smacked Sam again, and this time his best friend let out a yelp.

“Let me get you some coffee so you can remember your manners,” he muttered, getting up from the table.

“I’m not offended, honestly,” she assured them. “Josh said I’m one of you now, so -”

“Totally,” Sam said, then belched loudly.

“I give up!” Danny proclaimed as he poured a cup.

“My real name isn’t Maise, that’s a nickname.”

“Like the mouse in the cartoon?” Sam asked.

“Pronounced that way, but it’s spelled differently. See?” She showed him her lanyard.

“Oh...so why is your nickname Corn?”

“Ah you got it, good for you. Because my parents were total hippies and they called me that because of the color of my hair, my mom said it was like cornsilk. And I liked it better than my actual name, so I changed it when I turned 18 and the spelling too because I figured using the actual spelling would be offensive to native peoples. But I pronounce it like the cartoon mouse. I _guess_ you could say that’s a Millennial thing to do.”

“So what is your _real_ name?” Sam asked, sipping the coffee Danny had placed in front of him.

“Well I’ll tell you because it’s not like we don’t all know _your_ Biblical-ass names,” she snarked with a grin. “Amber Maddelyn. I kept my middle name - my Etsy store is called Maise Maddelyn’s Adornments.”

“That’s a really pretty name, though,” Danny noted, taking his seat. “You don’t like it?”

“There were so many Ambers at my school, ugh. I mean, I agree that it's pretty but I just wanted something of my own, I guess.”

“There was, like, what - six Dannys in our class?” Sam said, looking at his bandmate.

“Yep, by the time we got to Senior year. I got called by my last name most of the time.”

“So everybody was a Danny and not, like, Daniel or Dan or anything?”

“We started calling him Daniel 'cause Joshie likes to be formal,” Sam replied.

“Dan is my dad,” Danny said, “So whenever anyone tried to call me that I wouldn’t let them. I prefer Danny, although we all decided we’d use our given names for professional credits and stuff.”

“But you’re not a Junior?” Maise inquired.

“Different middle name.”

“Ah ha. But hey - I just thought of something else. So on the last album it was all photo manipulation stuff, and I **can** do that, but it’s not my specialty. Pete from the art department said it was definitely going to be _artwork_ , so, is that true?”

They both shrugged. “That’s probably what Josh told Jason, yeah,” Sam replied.

Maise felt her heart slow to a normal pace again, momentarily fearful she was going home before she’d even started. “Okay good, I just wanted to be clear.”

“Thirty-four, huh...you totally don’t look it,” Sam opined, and Danny hit him again.

It was getting close to one, and Maise thought she should go across the street and see to the sandwich situation, when sleepy-eyed faces emerged from the back: Josh and Micah, both wearing sweats and t-shirts. Without a word Micah went directly to the coffeemaker and poured two cups.

“Hey there, _ma artiste_!” Josh exclaimed, giving her a grin. “So how was the crew bus?”

“Just fine,” she replied, equally smiling. “Everyone is super chill.”

“Yeah they’re great guys,” Sam rejoined. “We’ve tried to keep the same people for every tour, but -”

The guys all looked momentarily guilty.

“But sometimes you can’t. Yeah I get it.”

Maise had heard about the change in a particular position. _Is Burma Jake’s new tech?_ she wondered.

“I’ll be back, if that’s okay. I’m going to go see what kind of sandwich I can get.”

Micah held up a hand. “Hang on,” he said.

He grabbed a compact two-way radio from a charging station on the counter, turning it on and keying it to a particular channel.

“Ryan, this is Micah - what’s your 20?” he inquired.

A burst of static followed, and then the whine of feedback. They could hear various noises in the background as Ryan responded.

“I’m in the Production Office.”

“Have they ordered lunch for the crew yet?”

“I don’t know, why?”

“Maise wanted to get in on that.”

“Is she there?”

“Go ahead Ryan,” Maise said into the speaker as Micah held it out in her direction.

“Hey; so yeah, don’t worry - you don’t need to eat crew food. Catering is here already and they should have lunch for us in about an hour, okay?”

“Affirmative. Thanks!”

“Oh, and Other Ryan says to come over and he’ll give you your per diem for the week.”

“Roger that.”

“Anything else, Micah?”

“Not on this end, over.”

“Over and out, guys.”

“Thanks Micah, I appreciate it.”

He smiled and sipped at his coffee. “Just doin’ my job, ma’am.”

Josh sat down next to Maise, pointing at her laptop. “So are we ready to high concept?”

“Sure, if you wanna. Let me take some notes.” She took a notebook and pencil from her backpack. Josh examined the pencil. Micah’s two-way radio squelched into life again.

“This is Micah, come back.”

“Hey, everything’s ready for the guys to come over. Is Jakey up yet?”

“Not yet, over.”

“Somebody might wanna remind him he’s got a press call at two.”

“Roger that.”

“Over and out again.”

“So is Ryan your assistant, or the assistant to the _other_ Ryan?”

“He’s kinda everyone’s assistant,” Danny replied. “And Micah belongs to us.”

“Usually Ryan is the one who drives us wherever,” Sam added. “Like, if we need to go to the mall, or we just want to go somewhere on a day off, unless the promoter arranges something.”

“Yeah he’s pretty fearless about driving wherever,” Josh said.

“That is a useful trait on tour,” Maise observed with a smile.

“This is a really nice pencil,” Josh continued. “Are they expensive?”

“It’s a Tombow, they’re pretty basic for one with an eraser. If you’re doing artwork and you need an eraser, it's best to use a special one where you can target whatever teeny-tiny thing you need to get rid of, like an electric eraser. They are expensive as fuck, but so worth it if you do a lot of pencil work.”

“An electric eraser? Get the fuck out!” Josh chided.

“I _told you_ they existed!” Sam proclaimed. “I wanted one for that architecture class I was gonna take.”

“Sammy, you were gonna draw plans by hand instead of using CAD/CAM?” Maise inquired with an incredulous expression.

Sam waved a hand, rolling his eyes. “Where’s the fun in letting the computer do everything?”

“This is why we call him the Evil Genius,” Danny teased, but he looked at the other with grinning affection.

“No doubt!” Maise replied, chuckling at Sam’s comically preening expression.

Jake was roused in due course, waving at everyone and slugging coffee, but choosing not to speak. The boys changed clothes and everyone gathered up whatever they wanted to bring into the venue, exiting from the bus in a group with Micah and Maise leading the way. There was no one lined up at the back of the facility yet, and one of the on-site security guys stood vigil at the barricade which had been set up, asking to see everyone’s AAA lanyards, even as the band’s clearly read BAND and Micah and Maise’s stated they were STAFF.

“So what’s the difference between crew and staff?” Maise asked Micah _sotto voce_.

“Access, basically. Staff is usually Triple-A, whereas only Executive Crew are on that level.”

“Ah okay, that’s different from the tours I worked. We had Staff and Crew and Stage - and those guys were limited, but everybody else was Triple-A.”

“With a bigger tour I could totally see that happening.”

They walked through the parking area and alleyway at the back then up the ramp which led into the loading bay and hallway behind the stage, now a busy epicenter of equipment, techs and riggers. Greetings were exchanged and they followed the signs to the backstage area.

Jake walked beside Maise, backpack in hand. “Mmm, what’s that you’ve got on?” he asked after giving her a sniff.

“It’s called Morning Star, it’s a sweet amber scent. Then I’ve got Evening Star for nighttime wear.”

“It’s sexy!”

‘Well thank you, Sir Jacob.”

He grinned. “Everyone in the fuckin’ world has seen that YouTube clip, it feels like.”

“Somehow I feel like you don’t really mind the attention.”

His expression didn’t change, but she could read the subtext of _you caught me_ in his flutter of his eyes.

“So what’s the craziest thing you’ve done on the bus?”

“What’s the craziest thing **you’ve** ever done on a bus? Danny told us you’ve been on tour before.”

“Hey, I asked you first! But honestly, I was too fucking tired most of the time to do _anything_ crazy.”

“Well maybe we’ll have to change that, huh?”

Maise grinned at him, although now knowing what she did of the band's collective appreciation, she reminded herself that Jake was just a natural flirt.

They reached the dressing room area: with two rooms set up for the guys, one room for hospitality, rooms designated for wardrobe and tuning, and one room labeled PRIVATE which they all entered.

“Our daily sanctuary,” Jake noted, making a dramatic bow. “Please be welcome.”

Maise came in and set her backpack in a corner next to an outlet, plugging in her phone and laptop to charge.

“Okay now for the important stuff - where’s Catering?!” she asked.

They all laughed and re-entered the hallway, moving toward the scent of hot food wafting their way.


	4. Presentation is everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lofty concept and gritty reality

After what Maise deemed was an entirely acceptable lunch of antipasto, pasta and salad, she found her way to the Production Office where the _other_ Ryan and an assistant were each on cell phones and also consulting their laptops. She waited patiently for either to be finished. Jana, the assistant, finally gave her a weary smile.

“Hey Maise, I’ve got your per diem right here.” 

She handed her an envelope which its’ recipient believed to be quite generous. _Wow, it’s good to be Staff, I guess._

“Hey thanks, I was running how on cash.”

“And here’s your copy of the itinerary.”

Maise took the booklet with a colorful cover and coil binding.

“So, the main rule is: if you have a question, please consult the itinerary before asking us. Ryan gets _very annoyed_ if someone asks him something that’s already in the itinerary.”

Maise saluted the other with a smile.

“So how was the crew bus?”

“Just fine, honestly. Compared to what I’ve known in the past, these guys are so chill.”

Jana grinned. “Yeah I feel ya, girl. I used to tour with the Foos in the early days, and dude, their crew was _rugged_ , you know what I’m saying? I mean, they all had hearts of gold but yeah, it was tough to be a chick in that environment.”

“Oooh, did you know Stevie D., he worked Front of House for them, I think?”

“Stevie, yeah girl - how do you know him?”

“He worked a tour for my ex years ago. He’s a hoot, right?”

“Totally!”

“Well I’d better get back to work, thanks for your help.”

Jana waved Maise off with another smile and picked up her phone once more.

Maise returned to the suite of rooms for the band and spotted Josh in Wardrobe, looking through his stage outfits, Micah standing at the ready with a hand-held steamer.

“Hey doll, want to help me choose?” he called out.

“Do you, like, keep track of how many times you wear something?”

Josh gestured to Micah, who tapped his forehead. “It’s all in there, for all of us.”

“I’ve just got a good visual memory,” Micah explained.

“Another very valuable skill,” Maise observed. “But, I would say it’s more of a logistical choice than a sartorial one, you know? Like, I would love to see you in that sun-and-stars jumpsuit every gig, but part of the fun for you is changing it up every time, right?”

Josh nodded. “I love outfits, I think it’s fun to put stuff together.”

“Yeah I can tell, even from your everyday clothes.”

Micah chuckled. “Josh was _always_ the kid with the funky style. And you can only understand what that really means if you grew up in Frankenmuth.”

“Well there’s always **one** , am I right?”

Josh stood up straight, hand upon his chest, in a _And it’s **me**!_ pose which made his associates laugh.

“But also, has Jake **ever** worn a shirt fully-buttoned in his life?”

“Not since he was 14,” Josh quipped, prompting more laughter.

“So you take care of this?” she asked Micah, gesturing at the road cases lined up against the wall. “I always thought it might be fun until I shadowed the wardrobe mistress during a tour I was on and damn do they work hard!”

“Uh, mainly just keeping track of stuff. I mean, I don’t have any training or anything. But we have to keep the crew to a certain size so we all kinda share jobs.”

“But given our propensity to misplace things, _priceless_ ,” Josh summarized.

He turned back to the racks of clothing and Maise nudged Micah.

“So what time do we leave tonight?”

Micah shrugged. “Like, one, probably? We can never seem to leave before then unless we’re staying over.”

“Good, I wanted to take a shower here before we get back on the bus.”

“Oh yeah, totally; they’ll be plenty of time.”

Josh pulled out a while jumpsuit embroidered with gold figures, all aquatic-themed.

“I’m not really feeling the white, but I haven’t wore it in -”

“ - nine gigs -” Micah interjected.

“- so I guess I’m due, right? That reminds me, darling, I was thinking maybe we should do a sea theme for the cover. We had the woods and the desert, so now the ocean.”

“Oh my god, then you can call the album _Shanties for the Seasick_!” Maise teased, laughing.

Josh kissed her hand with a romantic flourish. “This woman _totally_ gets me,” he informed Micah, who nodded with a smirk.

Maise returned to the communal room to unplug her electronic devices and was immediately interrogated by Sam, who sat with his surf green P-bass in his lap, plucking away on something...or maybe it was just random notes, she had no idea.

“So how do **you** know about architectural drawing?” he demanded. But his smile was mischievous.

 _I’m being hazed, maybe?_ she thought. She stowed her laptop, phone, and the itinerary in her backpack and sat down on an adjacent couch.

“I don’t, actually, but I took a class in mechanical drawing so I learned how to use CAD/CAM.”

“But why? You don’t do anything like that, do you?”

“No, but it was a requirement for my degree in graphic arts. And it _could_ have been useful, somewhere down the line. I mean, the purpose of the degree is to prepare you for the professional art world, to try and learn as many things as possible which will benefit your overall knowledge. I think some people just have the totally wrong idea of what it takes to be a pro, like they think you can just start drawing without any training and eventually someone will think you’re awesome and throw money at you. But being a pro is a lot more than just knowing how to do your thing. You get that, right? It’s not just about you playing bass - it’s about performing as good as you can every time, knowing when to stretch out and when to keep it tight. Knowing how to play _with_ your bandmates as well as _against_ them, sometimes. And knowing the difference between the stage and the studio.”

Sam nodded. His expression had evolved from skeptical to impressed.

“So how long did it take ya?”

“For my degree? It was the four-year thing, like usual. Liberal arts stuff plus the classes for my major. And I did a couple internships too.”

“A lotta work, huh?”

“Well yeah, but you guys have put in a lot of work too, right? You know that’s how it goes.”

“That’s one thing we have to keep reminding people about,” he replied thoughtfully. “They think, like, we got signed right out of our fuckin’ garage and that’s totally ridiculous!”

“I saw that video from your crowdfunded thing - I gotta say, if you guys played like that two years _before_ you were signed, then it’s no fucking wonder you were! But it’s because you’re so young, I think, it’s not a usual thing in rock n’roll anymore.”

“And how fuckin’ weird is that, right?! Like, did you know that Miles Davis had a 17-year-old drummer in _his_ band? Miles Fucking Davis, a legend!”

“Yeah, Tony Williams. Dude was a _monster_.”

“Wait, how do you know -”

“Samuel, I am your elder, I know a lot of stuff.”

Maise gave him a mock-serious look and Sam waited a few beats before snorting with laughter.

Maise walked into the hall and approached the Front of House duo, making a respectful request to watch the show from the production area that night. Dave agreed after she namechecked a few people he knew.

“I didn’t know you’d worked on the road, sorry - we all figured you were corporate.”

She laughed, it seemed to her a wholly ridiculous notion. “Dude, I _wish_ , yanno?!”

Dave and his assistant Brooky laughed in turn, the difference in their respective ages was both interesting and a bit comical.

“I promise I’ll stay out of the way - I just want to see the show from the best angle.”

They nodded, fully aware that their perch was always the best spot in _any_ venue.

“Brooky!” one of the techs shouted from the stage. “Can we test the left array again?”

The other held up a hand, making a few adjustments to the mixing console. He spoke into a talkback mic which broadcast over the PA. “Ready for your run,” he said.

The guy picked up a bass guitar - one of Sam’s backups, Maise surmised - and ran a fast chord sequence. In the mostly empty hall the sound was loud and echoey.

“Tone is a little thin on top,” Dave commented, and Brooky made more adjustments.

“We’ve gotta dial it in still but the signal path is good,” Brooky replied and the tech gave a thumbs-up.

“You guys don’t have automation?” Maise asked.

Dave shrugged. “ _Nobody_ does except the acts playing arenas and stadiums, y’know? That shit is expensive! Plus, they’re the ones who have to worry about consistency, people want to hear the songs the way they remember them. At this level, it’s more about the personal touch, like, people want to _see_ the band.”

“Right; yeah I’ve only ever worked with arena bands before.”

“Ah, those were the days, am I right?”

She laughed, nodding. “They were indeed.”

Josh and Jake sat down with Maise in the communal room to discuss artwork. Maise was amused to see that Jake had a beer, a bottle of water, _and_ a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Covering all your bases there, huh Jakey?” she joked.

He grinned, totally unabashed. “I’m ready for anything!” he declared.

Josh was drinking throat coat tea and Maise opted for coffee and water.

“So...here’s a drawing I’ve been working on,” Josh began, flipping through a A4 sketchbook. “I want to make it into a painting sometime, like the next time we’re off for a while.”

It was a colored pencil sketch of what appeared to be a mermaid, with flowing seafoam hair and skin sparkling with seafoam and tiny shells and barnacles, looking from the shelter of a rock towards a distant shore. Her eyes were gray and her gaze was a mix of curiosity and avarice.

“This is so nice,” Maise commented, examining the sketch. “I love your use of color, how everything is sort of a gradient, but blended together really well. Gives it great texture.”

“Joshie’s the best artist of us all,” Jake noted. “But Sam can draw, like, freaky robots and aliens and stuff really well. Cars, he loves to draw cars.”

“So what’s your specialty?” she asked him.

Jake shrugged. “You know, I’m not sure. I like faces, and I like nature. I like to draw birds a lot.”

“Jake painted a picture of our house to give to our mom for her birthday - it’s so beautiful!” Josh enthused.

“Well my dudes, it sounds like you don’t need me at all!”

They smiled in unison and she felt slightly stunned to behold it. _Uh-oh, it’s the Twin Grin!_

“Nah we’re just, y’know, dabblers,” Josh said. “We totally want someone professional to do this, and I guess the label figured you’ve got the right vibe for us.”

“I like that Art Deco-type thing you did for...what was his name?” Jake asked.

“Matt Grady, you mean? _Fools’ Gold_.”

“Yeah, that was really cool, like it had all those California symbols in it and stuff.”

“Yeah that was a lot of fun. And that album, man, it’s too bad he’s still sort of fringe because he’s such a great songwriter.”

Maise didn’t consider herself a singer as such, but as she’d listened to the title track so many times she could feel it spilling from her mouth and decided to let it flow.

 _I followed all those fools over the mountains_  
_I followed all those fools down to the ocean._  
_And what made me a fool just like the rest_  
_was I thought I had found the fountain._  
_Looking into that crystal water to see_  
_but the reflection was not me._

“That’s really great, ‘cause he’s talking about fame, right?” Josh observed.

“Yeah, fame and the myth of California as a promised land.”

“Let’s listen to the album on the bus tonight, huh?”

“Sure,” Jake said. “So how did you get the idea for that cover?”

“It was mainly that song, but some of the others too. Just about the power of illusions, and to me, Art Deco is all about stylized and idealized illusions, beautiful things, it seemed to fit the overall theme. But man, once I started - **yikes** \- I had to take myself back to school because I’d never really drawn anything like that. It’s not just about the style, there’s something beyond it. Like you could tell those dudes like Mucha just looked at things a certain way.”

“Yeah I get that, I think every great artist has that - they can only create what they see and feel, and it just comes out in a particular way.”

Maise nodded at Josh’s observation. She was beginning to understand how multi-faceted he was: thoughtful and charismatic, yet also playful and generous with his regard.

“So...how about maybe different aspects of the sea?” she inquired, opening her own sketchbook and quickly drawing as she spoke. “Like, sunset and moonrise, and maybe a gatefold showing a mermaid crawling to shore, the waves breaking over her body? And, like, the four of you in the distance, walking the shoreline.”

“Not entirely recognizable as us, though,” Josh said, looking at her sketch. “I prefer not to have us specifically portrayed. I didn’t want that for _Black Smoke Rising_ either, but Jason said we had to have a cover which would put our faces in people’s minds. After that, though, I got stubborn.”

“Yeah I get that you’d rather have a vibe for the records, right? Cinematic, even.”

Josh snapped his fingers. “ **Exactly.** ” He looked at Jake with another grin. “She so totally gets me!”

“So who did the trace of your faces? From that reference photo - it was taken on the set of the video for ‘Highway Tune,’ right?”

“Oh my god, I don’t think anyone ever figured that out!” Jake declared.

Maise laughed. “Oh _somebody_ had to, but maybe no one’s ever posted about it on social media.”

“It was me,” Josh replied, “although I think someone else went in and cleaned it up or re-did it.”

“It was a good idea - it’s a striking image.”

Josh grinned and took a sip of tea. “Awww, you don’t have to be all nice about it, really.”

“No I mean it. I don’t think it looks hokey or anything. I really like how the art for the album turned out, though, like you’re just shadows on the landscape, it’s really trippy.”

“I mean, the Zeppelin thing, it’s annoying sometimes, but one thing we did say,” Jake said, “is they were **never** on their album covers. And we were, like, _we want that too_.”

“Yeah but they **were** on the cover of _Led Zeppelin II_ , dude,” Maise pointed out.

Josh laughed and Jake slapped the table, mock-angry. “Damn it, I always forget about that one!”

Maise decided to remain casual for the gig, even managing to snag a CREW shirt from the _other_ Ryan because the backline refused to wear them.

“CREW shirts are fuckin’ lame,” Burma declared with a smirk as everyone gathered for dinner in Catering. She stood in line with him at the buffet, plates in hand. “Dude, you should totally know that!”

“Ah, but listen here whippersnapper,” she teased, “back in my day people were _proud_ to wear their gimme shirts!”

“Okay, Ms. Thang - do you have a Showco shirt?”

“Oh, so you’re saying if I do then you’ll take me seriously?”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

“Well it just so happens that I do.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen!”

“Just wait till we sit down and _then_ I will show you.”

She brought her food to the Crew table, then walked over to the glass-doored merchandiser-style refrigerators lined up on one side of the room to pick out a beverage. Sam appeared to materialize at her side.

“Hey, you’re not gonna sit with us?” he asked.

“I have to bunk with those guys, so I don’t wanna make it seem like I’m too good for them, y’know?”

“Well maybe you could sleep on our bus instead?”

Maise laughed. “ _Duuuude._ Do you not see the total implausibility of that idea?”

Sam blushed, and Maise felt a flutter of triumph. _Score one for me!_

“Yeah but, you’re working, right?”

She shook her head at him. “ _Working_ or not,” she replied, placing a mocking emphasis on the adjective, “that’s a huge red flag to even suggest it, much less justify it. They would send me home in _half_ a heartbeat. I mean, surely you are familiar with the concept of the circle of trust.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, okay. I mean, I love our crew but you _are_ too good for them.” This last was delivered in a whisper.

Maise smiled at Sam and felt herself blush a bit. 

_Vote of confidence: check._ But she felt conflicted even just a bit to consider that because they thought she was attractive it was then the greater part of her appeal. But she was no stranger to that kind of judgement and knew she couldn’t afford to be too principled about it.

She returned to her seat and slid her phone out of her jeans, scrolling through her personal Instagram account. “Ah ha!” she said after a minute or so, then enlarged the view of the post she had been searching for. A photograph from bygone days where she was indeed wearing a t-shirt with the classic marquee-style Showco logo - blue with contrasting dark trim - posing with a couple other females on the crew she had worked with in another life.

_#tbt #girlpower #workinggrrls_

“Nice - yeah okay, you’re legit,” he said, handing back the phone.

“Gee thanks, dude.” She wondered if Burma was the same age as Josh and Jake, or maybe mid-20s. She didn’t consider herself _old_ by any means, but this experience was driving home the point of being _older_ now.

The others were too busy eating and looking at their phones to pay them any mind.

 _Is he flirting with me?_ And what did flirting even mean these days? In her experience, crew members were strongly discouraged against hooking up just because when relationships hit the unyielding wall of The Grind, you couldn’t afford to have drama, not when you lived and worked in such close quarters every single day.

 _And you did not come out here to fuck around, girl_ , she reminded herself; though the thought remained that she **had** wanted to see if touring was something she could consider doing, again.

“Hey, so - Jana, what’s _her_ deal?” she asked.

“Ryan hired her himself; she flies, mostly, except if it’s a short leg.”

“So like an executive secretary or something?”

“Yeah I guess; it’s mainly ‘cause she’s been in it so long that she knows _everybody_ and can make just about anything happen. And she wants to work smaller tours these days.”

“Wow, yeah usually you see those kind of people with management.”

“Yeah; I mean, she’s cool but definitely more like it’s just her job. She’s not, like, one of us,” he said, gesturing around the room at all assembled.

They turned their attention to the roasted chicken and grilled vegetables they had each selected for dinner.

“You guys have _good_ catering,” she said between bites.

Burma nodded. “Ryan totally gets it - the food _has_ to be decent, and then we all do a better job.”

She looked over at the table where the band sat with Micah and _their_ Ryan plus the executive crew and a few people she didn’t recognize, wondering if they were tonight’s VIPs. Danny caught her eye and gave her a shy smile. She felt her heart thump as she stared at him.

_Oh good lord, woman, get a fucking grip._

All of them were attractive beyond all reasonable considerations but there was something about Danny which enthralled her even more. She attempted to swallow her feelings like the food she was eating.

“Dude, they’ve got Magic Cookie Bars tonight for dessert,” Burma told her as he stood up with his cleaned plate. “If you want one then you’d better get it now, they go pretty fast.”

“Are you going?” she asked, looking at her still mostly-full plate.

“Yeah, so you want me to get you one?”

“Please.”

Maise figured that was the seal of approval right there. The crew always looked out for each other. It wasn’t so much an Us-against-Them situation as two worlds which were adjacent and sometimes merged, but still separate and distinct. She inclined her head in thanks and he gave her a wink.

 _Probably flirting, yeah_ , she surmised.


	5. Late night meanderings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The later it gets, the more you probably shouldn't be trying to do anything too serious.

_I: the bubble effect_

An hour before the show anyone who had been hanging out in the communal room was herded into the hospitality room down the hall. PRIVATE meant just that now, as the guys needed some alone time to prepare for the gig. Josh retreated to the dressing room he shared with Jake, Sam and Danny were in their room jamming out on something. Maise decided she should decamp to the Production Office and do some work until it was time for their set. As she entered Jana was just leaving.

“Hey Maise, if you’re looking for Ryan he’s back on the bus.”

“Actually, is it okay if I hang out here? I have some work to do.”

“Sure, our hotspot is still on, go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Maise sat at one of the tables and logged onto her laptop, checking her various social media accounts. She saw a DM notification on her professional Instagram page.

_@danny_gvf: Sammy is demanding a bun-off w/me._

Maise clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the guffaw. She replied to Danny that it was a matter which could be addressed post-gig, then as she was about to open another tab she saw he had liked every photo of hers from the past month. She felt her heart lurch again, sighing and rolling her eyes.

_omigod STOP_

This was not a command to Danny’s kindness, but rather her reaction to it. It was too intense to be sensible.

“Earplugs or no?” 

Brooky shrugged. “It’s not gonna be, like, fucking LOUD right here but I _always_ recommend earplugs for the audience.”

Maise nodded. “Yeah I’m all about protecting my hearing, I just thought maybe since this is the sweet spot it wouldn’t be brutal.”

“Oh it’s not - I mean, we crank it but we don’t go in the red. There’s no good reason for that.”

“Yeah I’ve never understood the whole driving the gain thing for some bands. I get that you want distortion, but not if it’s gonna be just, like, _noise_.”

He nodded, taking a swig from a water bottle then he returned to his workstation. She seated herself on an equipment case (after asking permission) in the back of the area and put in her Decibullz earplugs which immediately blocked the high end shrillness of the PA, breathing a sigh of relief. Looking around, the theatre was packed with enthusiastic fans and she saw a nice range of ages, though mostly people in their late teens-early twenties. But there were also people her age and older, and some had brought younger kids with them. It was heartening that Greta continued to appeal to a spectrum of fans, not just one particular demographic. From the viewpoint of the somewhat elevated platform for the production area she had a good sightline to the stage entire, and sitting on the case meant she was slightly above the production team, who would be seated in front of their consoles throughout the gig.

She took a quick photo while the house lights were still up, posting it to her professional account, making certain to put the venue in the location.

_Always the best seat in the House! #FOH #respectthetechs #roadlife_

She expected to see a few comments the next day on the order of: _so what are **those** guys like anyway?_ Most of the people she knew from the professional touring world didn’t even listen to rock n’roll in their off-time. One of her closest friends was majorly into EDM and even had a side career as a DJ when not touring with one of the world’s longest-running rock bands. A lifer for sure.

_What would you even **do** , honestly?_

And that was a question she was not ready to ponder. She saw Arthur get on his two-way and seconds later the walk-in music cut out and the house lights came down, the crowd roaring. The stage, which had been lit with purple gel spots only moments before, went completely dark. She tried to pick out the low-level flashlights the backline crew used to lead the band to their places but from this distance it was difficult to discern, and she was swept up in the excitement around her. A few warm-up sounds were then heard and the crowd cheered louder. The fifteen seconds she counted felt like an agonizing eternity before Greta hit everyone with a bright flash of the lighting rig and “The Cold Wind.” All the techs had their cans on, focused on their tasks, save Dave who had one earpiece on and one off. Maise figured he was doing what engineers referred to as “mixing for the room” which involved not only balancing the channels of the instruments, but taking into account the noise of the crowd and the acoustics of the space. She sat there, moving her upper body to the rhythm, tapping her feet against the case, letting out a _Whoooooo!_ every so often.

_Damn this is fun!_

She had so rarely experienced that kind of joy at a concert in many years. During those years dating a musician, at every gig she was focused on praying that his performance would be perfect and nothing would go wrong. It very rarely did, at any rate. When she saw comments on archival footage from that time, all the _Such an utter GOD_ and _He is THE BEST_ type of reactions, she would then remember that she had never just sat back and reveled in his playing. Even when she saw him perform later, after their breakup, it was the same. _Just let him have a good show_ , she would pray.

She had no stake in this, beyond liking the four people on that stage very much. She appreciated their passion and drive, they were definitely world-class.

_But Josh said you were one of them now._

She shook her head, attempting to banish anything but the moment itself.

Their rendition of “Lover, Leaver” put her into a trance, losing track of time but she figured it had to be one of the longest versions, it seemed to go on and on but the mood and the groove were undeniable. Jake used Josh’s mic stand to coax some otherworldly tones from his main axe and Josh’s cries matched the intensity of those sounds, while Sam and Danny locked in and drove them all to heights previously unknown.

“Oh this fucking band!” Maise declared, and Dave turned around in his seat, giving her the thumbs-up. She laughed and did the same.

The door to the room marked PRIVATE was shut again, and one of the venue security guys stood next to it, a clear message not to disturb whatever was going on behind it. Micah was in the hallway talking to one of the guests with an aftershow pass, pointing the way to Hospitality.

“Chillin’ out?” Maise said to him, nodding at the other door.

“Yeah; that and it’s when they usually talk to Aaron. But they try not to take too long.”

“They need it though, you know? Performing puts you in such a weird headspace. Not necessarily _bad_ , just so intense. Although my ex, he used to say he needed to get up more than he needed to come down. He never wanted to talk to anyone _before_ a show, but afterwards he was ready to hang all night.”

“Yeah Danny mentioned who you used to date. That band is -”

“- _interesting_ , yeah. But you know, that was way more reputation than reality.”

Micah laughed. “That’s one thing I’ve definitely learned in all this - all these rock n’roll guys are just people. And most of them are pretty cool.”

Maise leaned against the wall, grateful she had decided to remain casual for the night. Her boots were cute but not so much fun to stand around in.

“So do you want to work in the industry someday?”

He shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t think it’s really my thing but...Josh and I made a pact that we were going to be partners, whatever it was. Like, he would write and direct movies and I would produce them. And then it turned into -” he gestured outwards with his hands at the hallway filled with people who were also displaying that post-gig high “- _this_.”

“But it’s okay, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, was I gonna turn down a chance to travel the world with my best friend and my other friends? Hell no!”

“I’m gonna grab a shower now and wind down. I’ll see you later, hopefully.”

“Should I tell the guys you’ll come to Hospitality later?”

“If they ask, but there’s so many people here I doubt they will.”

“Danny will **definitely** ask, just sayin.’”

Maise giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth. _Oh lord, what is going on with that boy?_

“Uh...okay. Let’s not make **that** a conversational topic or anything, please.”

She was trying for embarrassed as opposed to _OMG I cannot believe he thinks I’m sexy, or whatever._ Her heart pounded at the latter consideration.

Micah winked and moved to the other door, showing his lanyard to the guard, who allowed him entry. Maise blew out a loud sigh and headed to the back exit.

Even the experience of something so basic raised so many memories...Maise recalled how her crewmates Kat and Ellie used to rate the showers at the venues. They had a very complicated scoring system, and even considered publishing a book for others to use. To those in the life, it was very important information. The showers at this venue were small, but reasonably clean. Thankfully she had remembered to pack a pair of rubber flip-flops. She slipped into aubergine yoga pants, donning her thermal under the crew shirt, and took a towel to her wet hair, carefully fluffing it out then applying a drop of argan oil to the ends. She patted on her night serum and considered a little eyeliner and mascara but then gave herself a _Who are you fucking kidding with this nonsense?_ kind of look.

_Just go get on the bus. Someone will surely find you if they really want to._

And that was definitely true. Maise thought back to the only road romance she’d ever had, with a backline crew chief for another band, but her band and his band were on a package tour one particular summer. She liked to make a game of finding places to hide in the venue after she’d packed up the merch and returned it to her designated equipment truck and damn if that fucker didn’t find her every single time, like he was psychic or some shit. She sighed to think of it, she had tried very hard **not** to think of him in recent years. Last she’d heard he was still in the life, but his specific movements were unknown to her. And it was really better that way.

_Danny's just got a crush, STOP this._

But...all the same she stuck her head into Hospitality on her way back to the crew bus. The room was packed, with music and various conversations competing for volume dominance. Sam caught her eye and waved her in.

“Hey, don’t tell me you’re going to bed _now_?!” he cried.

“Nah, but I seriously needed a shower.”

“Ah, don’t we all!” Sam joked, then lifted up an arm to sniff at his pit. “Well, I don’t think I’m _that_ bad.”

A whiff of warm thick Young Man in the Prime of His Life pheromones caught her and it took every ounce of restraint Maise possessed not to swoon.

_Mother of fucking Christ -_

But she was mainly concerned with how bright it was in this room and how it must be emphasizing every single wrinkle she possessed.

“I’ll see you on the bus in a bit, right?” she said.

Sam grinned. “Oh yeah, definitely.”

Maise continued out the back exit, moving toward the buses across the street. One of the press photographers hailed her, off to the side of the ramp, vaping and shivering in her vintage coat which was totally cute but not very warm, a professional-grade camera slung across her body.

“Hey, uh - so I heard you’re doing the next album cover?” she asked. She had lovely blonde ringlets and wore a press pass on her shirt but her name was not on it. Maise couldn’t remember if they’d been introduced earlier.

“Yeah; I’m sorry - have we met?” Maise held out a hand.

“Oh sorry! I’m Amanda, I work for Reuters, like, a stringer, you know?”

“Sure.” Stringers were usually assigned to a particular geographic region based on where they lived and were paid by the photo. A good photo might get licensed for use dozens of times but Maise considered that gig even more hand-to-mouth than her own artistic enterprise.

“Yeah so, I just wanted to put it out there - like, totally not horning in on your gig or anything? But if they want photos too? Can you, like, slip ‘em my card?”

Amanda passed her an actual business card with all the contact information. She noticed the business was called Rock Out Images, which Maise considered a somewhat clever name.

 _Oh girl, I am **not** your way into this situation._ But she didn’t want to say that. It was always all about connections and it was generally not a good idea to piss _anybody_ off...for various reasons but also karmically.

“It’s probably way more useful for me to forward your deets to the Art Department, but sure, I’ll tell them.”

“Ohmigosh that would be awesome, thank you! I’ve been trying for _months_ now to get on the tour, like, to be their official photographer, but I guess they’re not really into the whole social media thing?”

“It doesn’t really seem that way, does it? Not anymore, anyway.”

But Maise knew the real reason was probably something a lot more ordinary. Any attractive young woman who was hungry to get next to the band - for whatever reason - would be immediately dismissed. Her heart began pounding again.

_There but for the grace of... **whatever** …_

“Yeah, I gotta get going, but here -”

Maise tore off a scrap of the receipt from the truck stop and scribbled her professional email address.

“Like, drop me a line in a couple days and I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay; hey thanks a lot.”

“Sure.”

Maise picked up her duffel and moved in the direction of the barricade at the rear entrance.

“Hey, so - what’s it like?”

Maise turned around. “What do you mean?”

“Being with _them_. Constantly, right? Like, on the bus and everything?”

“I’m not on their bus, no. I bunk with the crew.”

“But you’re Staff - they get to be on the band bus. I’ve seen how it works.”

 _Okay, fuck this._ Maise laughed. She tried not to make it sound mean.

“Have you ever heard of The Bubble Effect?”

Amanda’s pretty blue eyes crinkled as she wracked her brain. “Uh, no?”

“Everyone who goes on the road - if they’re Staff, or Crew, or whoever - they learn about this. Each person has a bubble of personal space, and they cherish it, they protect it. Then there’s the bubble of space around the band, which is okay to intersect sometimes, but not others. And then there’s the bubble around staff, and crew, and the whole roadshow.”

Maise held up her lanyard.

“This? It only means that I can go where I’m allowed to go, and that access is subject to change at any moment. But it says to the locals: _let her go where she’s going_. And that’s **it**. I mean, what the fuck makes you think that those boys -” she pointed back into the venue “ - would be allowed to have a _woman_ sleeping on their bus? In what universe is that even possible?”

“But girlfriends -”

Maise stopped herself from yelling. Just barely.

“How do you **not** understand that’s not the same thing?”

Amanda shut down at the intensity of that last question. Her response was barely a whisper.

“Yeah okay. It’s just, you know, I’ve been watching everything going on.”

Maise took a deep breath. _Calm down already, geez._

“Word of advice, okay? If they decide to consider you, if they haven’t already clocked you as an opportunist? Be very, very careful. I guarantee you that Ryan will leave your ass in the next town if he thinks you’re trying to fuck **any** of them. I’m a _professional_ , are **you**?”

Wide shocked eyes. _Oh please, girl, don't even try it._

Maise turned her back and started walking, waiting for a last word which never came.

_II: “...we’re, like, so _stubborn_ …”_

Maise knew how to pack light and knew it was easier these days when entertainment could be accessed digitally, but she always brought along one physical book. This trip, needing an artistic inspiration as well as a source of social commentary that she felt the band would appreciate, she chose _A Year Without a Winter_ , an anthology devoted to climate change. Grim and surreal but also gorgeously rendered. She flipped through her well-worn paperback, seeking those particular sections she found enlightening. Load-out was still in progress and the crew always gathered for a final beverage before getting on the bus and readying for sleep. She could hear Randy in his cab talking to someone on the phone. Otherwise the vehicle was quiet, and that was nice. She opened Spotify on her phone and hit random on her general playlist. The first song to come up was “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” and Maise paused for a moment, memories of the road replaying.

Corey loved a lot of music but had a particular fascination with The Police, which no one who worked under him could quite figure out. But he subjected everyone to it at load-out, at the beer bashes the two crews held whenever they had time and space, and Maise remembered dancing to songs from _Ghost In The Machine_ at one particular party, both of them drunk enough not to care that they looked ridiculous but also trying so very hard not to look as if they were obsessed with each other.

 _No matter what I do, I’m still hungry for you_ , they sang to each other and it was just the song. But it was also the truth.

She shook her head - _ahhh, STOP_. She was afraid she might start thinking of him again and she didn’t want to, as far back in the rearview as that relationship was. But she had yet to meet anyone as interesting, even in the industry. People tended to think that she was likely pining over her ex, wondering what life would be like now if she had stayed with him. She knew _exactly_ what it would have been, and wasn’t willing to lose her autonomy. He had always encouraged her talent, but he came first. Everything else would have had to take a backseat to his needs, his schedule. That was the world he lived in, and she had been there long enough to know it wasn’t what she wanted, even as she wanted him. Some people were just too expensive.

Corey was generous, in his way. He loved to learn and he loved to teach, and they taught each other any number of things. But he was a lifer and she had to let him go once she realized she didn’t want to be.

_But what **do** you want, exactly?_

_Look, just because I don’t have it yet doesn’t mean I don’t know._

_Oh really?_

Thankfully a rap on the door brought Maise out of her internal debate/pity party. Randy emerged from his cab and gave her a smile.

“Hopefully that’s my pizza!”

She gave him a thumbs-up, but when he opened the door it was Micah.

“You see a pizza guy out there, dude?”

“Nuh-uh,” Micah replied. “Maise - Josh is on the bus so come over, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, stowing her book and her phone in her backpack and coming down the stairs to follow him. Looking across the street she could see there was still plenty of activity going on in the venue and a large crowd at the barricade.

“So did Joshie already press the flesh?” she asked.

“We put him in a hoodie and took the long way around; he can’t talk right now.”

“But why -”

“I don’t ask, I just do what I’m told,” Micah responded with a smirk. He performed the coded knock and Jim opened the door.

“And how are you this evening, young lady?”

She grinned. “I’m just fine, sir, and you?”

“Jim is such an incorrigible flirt,” Josh croaked from his seat at the dining table. Jim good-naturedly flipped Josh the bird.

“You’re not supposed to be talking,” Maise scolded, coming over to the table. Josh gestured for her to sit. In front of him was a fresh cup of tea, tissues, lozenges, a portable nebulizer and a damp dish towel wrapped within a woolen scarf.

“I know, but it’s okay if I whisper, really.”

She gave him a skeptical look and he grinned. It was nearly impossible to resist the power of that sunshine smile, she thought.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded. “It doesn’t hurt, I just stretch it too far sometimes. So then I have to rest, it’s okay.”

Maise gave Josh a side hug. “You guys were awesome tonight. I watched from Front of House.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s good. We sounded okay?”

“Absolutely! So...I could read to you, if you like? Or we could listen to some music.”

“I’m not an invalid, doll. But you could tell me a story about when you used to do this. And have a drink, please. Micah, did you bring the wine?”

Micah set a couple bottles on the table. “Red and white, but don’t ask me, like, what they are - I don’t know shit about wine.”

Maise snickered. “I, uh, used to date this guy who did. He wasn’t a snob, he just knew a lot about wine. To this day I’ll be, like, in Trader Joe’s looking at all these bottles going, ‘Corey, where are you when I need you, goddamnit!’”

“I know all I need to: wine is delicious,” Josh whispered.

“Drink your tea, dude,” Micah admonished him, setting a stack of plastic cups next to the bottles.

Maise examined the labels and made a surprised sound.

“Oooh, rosé! I haven’t had rosé in ages!” She pulled the cork and poured a half-measure into the glass.

“So that’s not the same as red?” Micah asked.

“Not quite, but that only matters if you don’t like one or the other, I guess.”

“See I told you I don’t know shit about wine!”

“I know very little myself so it’s no big, trust me.”

Micah shrugged and retreated to the front lounge, donning headphones and swiping on his phone.

“A story, huh? I have a good one for everybody, so let me think of another just for you.”

Josh smiled again. “Is it really that much different now, on the road?”

“Oh absolutely. I mean, the whole industry has changed, for one thing. And that affects _everything_. But it’s really this generation of dudes, y’all are so chill!”

“But you’re a Millennial too, it shouldn’t surprise you!” he laughingly protested.

“Oh but I’m old, though. Besides I always worked with, and dated, guys who were older than me. My ex? He was nearly twice my age when we met. I was right out of college and he had just hit his 40s. But he’s got this, like, eternally playful vibe about him that makes you totally forget about how old he really is.”

“I guess that’s the rock star thing, right?”

“It _was_ , sure. Probably not so much anymore.”

“Was it really bad for you? On the crew, I mean.”

“Not for me, so much. Working merch was acceptable for a girl, you see. But the females who were techs or even just local crew and knew their shit, they were in for it. I knew this one lady, Sue, she was a tough broad and I say that with every ounce of respect I possess. She could work just as hard as any of them but as much as they talked trash to each other she got it double. And I think it was just a continual test. But every time a big act came into town they were calling her up because they knew she could do the job, whatever it was: backline, lights, sound. She never had to beg for scraps, she had to turn down gigs sometimes. But I was, like, ‘Don’t you just wanna tell those dudes to eat their own shit and yours too?’”

Josh laughed, his voice cracking. He coughed a bit and took a swig of tea.

“And she told me: ‘Oh honey, I always have the last laugh because I can make more in one night than some of those cocksuckers make on the whole goddamn tour!’”

“Did you have friends? Some of our guys have worked together a long time, they make sure they get hired for the same tours and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, there was a group of us that had worked for our band since the club days. So they kept us in it when they made the jump to playing arenas. I mean, it was always a package tour or whatever but it was steady work for them. Every summer they toured, and then played festivals overseas at other times. And that’s a good thing, if you can manage to stay at the same level.”

“Are they still together?”

“Not full-time, no. I think they still play festivals but they stopped touring regularly. It’s a grind and some people can handle it, but when it’s your main thing? Some people are, just, like, ‘I can’t deal with this year after year.’”

“Right. We’re still trying to figure that out. But we’re, like, _so stubborn_ , determined to find our own way. My mom worries that maybe we’re touring too much but we had to explain to her that’s where the money is. Not like crazy greedy money, just the money for us to live on. And we love to play for actual people. Maybe it's old-fashioned these days, but it's what we want.”

“Yep; everyone thought I was _crazy_ to quit when I did because touring is the most lucrative thing now, but, it was really wearing me down and I felt like I didn’t have enough time to do what I wanted to do, creatively. That’s the most important thing, you know?”

Josh nodded just as a thumping sounded on the door, like the slapping of many hands.

“Okay, I’m gonna hold you to that story,” Josh said, and Maise toasted him with her glass of wine.

_III: so into you_

The energy in the bus immediately changed once the band was all together. The jokes, puns, gibes and snark were flowing fast and thick and Maise eventually gave up on following any of the conversations unless spoken to. But they were fun together, unlike more than a few bands in her experience. Her ex’s band all had separate buses, dressing rooms and hospitality, their consensus was they worked better together if they spent as little time as possible interacting while on the road. She likened it to four bubbles merging for two-and-a-half hours onstage, and then floating apart again for the next 24 hours or however long it might be.

She could tell that not only had Greta grown up together, but they had _fused_ together, for lack of a better term. They truly seemed to enjoy talking to each other, making each other laugh, and indulging their mutual obsession with music.

The album Sam had playing through the bus’ speakers was somehow familiar but also not. Maise focused, attempting to figure it out. Definitely 70s-era but who?

“I’m kinda obsessed with this band right now,” Sam said with a grin. “Nobody else is as into them.”

“They’re alright,” Jake conceded. “But I like Climax Blues Band better.”

“You will _always_ love the English bands more!” Josh teased him.

“So this is -”

“Atlanta Rhythm Section,” Danny responded helpfully.

“Oh! God, I guess I only know two songs from them.”

“This is a good album,” Sam professed. “It’s, like, more ambitious than most of their peers of the time. Southern bands, I mean. Like, they’re all trying to be Skynyrd and these guys were, like, way more nuanced.”

She nodded, smiling. Their collective passion, but perhaps Sam’s especially, was so encouraging to her. She knew too many people who treated music like a job or something they had to get out of the way most nights before the true pursuits could begin. No one was being particularly flirty, and Maise was glad of that given what had happened earlier.

“Hey so, I ran into this girl who really wants to work with you guys - her name is Amanda.”

She held out the business card and everyone threw up their hands and exclaimed “OH NO!” Other Ryan snatched the card from her fingers.

“That’s a nope, she’s strictly forbidden,” he said. “We’re gonna have to tell Aaron about this.”

“Shit, I’m sorry - I mean, I figured she might be coming on too strong but she didn’t get weird or anything...not really?”

“She managed to sneak backstage one too many times,” Micah noted. “That’s always a warning sign.”

“Yeah that’s why we have a dude outside our door now,” Jake said.

“Oh, I figured it was just a ‘do not disturb’ kinda thing.

“Well that too,” Josh replied. “I talked to her last month, she’s a nice girl and all but...I feel like what she wants is not what **we** want, and we’ve learned how to spot it now.”

Maise took a sip of wine and shrugged. “To be honest, I figured you guys would clock her but I gave her my word, so…”

“No worries,” Danny said, reaching across the table and patting her hand. Maise felt herself flush again to feel the weight of his touch. “Besides, she probably acted like we didn’t know who she was, right?”

“Well, she kind of... _equivocated_ , I guess you could say.”

“Uh-huh,” Micah interjected, rolling his eyes.

“Anyway,” Sam said loudly, “what I wanna know is: which one of you assholes ate all the jalapeno popcorn?! Daniel?”

“I didn’t!” Danny protested. “I ate _most_ of it, but not all of it.”

“I cannot resist cheese popcorn of any kind, so maybe it was me?”

“Have you been sneaking back here at three in the morning?” Sam jokingly accused. “‘Cause I can hear it - I’m, like, snoozing and then suddenly _crunch crunch crunch_.”

Everyone cracked up. “Daniel!” the three brothers intoned simultaneously, pointing fingers at their drummer.

“Dude, there is nothing like stale cheese popcorn at three AM, swear to god,” Maise noted in Danny’s defense.

“Right?!” Danny exclaimed with a gorgeous grin.

_Goddamn it! You're not supposed to be encouraging him!_

One of the aforementioned recognizable songs came on, everyone nodding their heads to it and looking at their phones. Maise became lost in it, realizing she had never really listened to the lyrics. She thought it was about romantic obsession - and maybe it was - but it was also yet another song about fucking. _Hey, it’s a popular subject._ It definitely had a great groove, that much she remembered.

She happened to look up just as the refrain came back around and Danny was looking at her, hazel eyes wide and soulful.

_Now I stand here, helplessly_  
_hoping you’ll get into me._

Love, lust...at a certain age it’s all the same thing. Working in a male-dominated industry had taught her that viewing the world on testosterone was a real thing, not a cliche or an excuse. You could ask, or even insist, that guys should act more like human beings than walking gonads but...up to a particular point they just couldn’t do it. Desire was powerful: hormonal, chemical, cultural, emotional.

And then you tried to tell yourself that their desire was your desire too. But that didn’t always work. The reason didn’t matter if it just wasn’t there. What was that Radiohead song? _Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there._ Something like that.

They heard the front door open and saw Arthur entering the bus.

“Hey Maise, we’re gettin’ ready to roll, so -”

To a man they all let out a groan of protest and she was instantly, thoroughly, gratified.

_Bless your hearts, you sweet young things._

Danny followed Maise off the bus after Josh and Jake sang "Goodnight, Ladies" to her, Jake strumming a ukulele.

“I’ll walk you over there,” he joked. In just a few steps they were standing at the crew bus.

She smiled and patted his shoulder.

“You are a true gentleman, Mr. Wagner. Oh! Before I forget -” Maise opened her backpack and pulled out one of her sketchbooks. “I was working on this earlier, I used a photo I took of you the other night for reference.”

On the page Danny was captured in a moment of performance: dark hair floating around his angular face, arms raised and muscles flexed, drumsticks in hand, his skin glowing with his passionate labors, his ornate vest twinkling with reflections of the stage lights.

 _Such a beautiful beast_ , she thought, and meant it in the best possible way.

“Wow,” he breathed, “that’s amazing, I love it. Can I have it?”

 _Maybe **I** want it._ But then again, she could draw him over and over again now, he was deep inside her imagination. She smiled and signed it with a flourish, gently tearing the sheet from the sketchbook and handing it to him. Danny kissed her cheek, quickly, knowing their interaction was likely being monitored, and ran back to the other bus. Maise climbed the stairs, heart beating so hard she couldn’t hear anything else above the throb of her foolish impulse.


	6. Relationships: a handy primer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't step in the same river twice - but some of the landmarks might be familiar.

In the back lounge, Maise studied the itinerary for the remainder of the week. Day after tomorrow they would be in Tempe for three days, a two-night stand at the Marquee Theatre plus a day off. She smirked to recall Arizona; she enjoyed the desert but a few years back she had visited Sedona with her bestie, doing the spa and shopping thing, and then they had driven through the Verde Valley, stopping in one particular town where she was reminded that one of her ex’s bandmates pretty much owned most of it. How he had come to do so was a very long story she didn’t feel like explaining, but when they stopped at one of the local diners she prayed she wouldn’t encounter him, because he would think she had come there on purpose.

 _ **As if** , you narcissistic asshole_, she would have wanted to say to him, but knew she wasn’t quite that courageous. It was important to remain friendly and neutral - after all, her association with the band, distant though it may be, continued to lend her credibility in unexpected ways.

After that it was onto another two-night stand in Los Angeles and that’s where she got off this crazy thing, as the saying goes. She mused that the band would likely ask her to stay through the rest of the West Coast dates, and it would be convenient at least to hitch a ride to Portland, but she didn’t feel right taking advantage of their hospitality.

She needed to sleep, but all she could do was think of the feel of Danny’s lips against her cheek. She _needed_ to sleep, because otherwise she was going to look awful - now at the age where she could get away with a late night here and there but consecutive sins piled up way too fast in the form of dark circles and bags, dull skin and even more wrinkles. Maise dug through her duffel searching for the baggie of vitamins and supplements, hoping she had remembered to include some sleep gummies this time.

“Ah ha!” she softly exclaimed, spying a few dark blobs in a corner of the baggie. She sifted through the other pills and capsules, freeing one of the gummies and popping it in her mouth, fully realizing she had just ruined her nightly brushing. But after turning out the lights and allowing the motion of the bus to lull her, taking deep breaths, Maise finally nodded off...

...until the bus made its’ usual middle-of-the-goddamn-night fuel stop, that is. Maise sighed, not bothering to look at her phone, and changed to go outside, letting out a giggle as she came down the stairs.

 **Buc-ee’s!** The greatest truck stop in the Southwest.

“Hi,” she was hailed from the direction of the other bus and there was Danny, hair pulled back, in sweats and a red hoodie with MUTH in large grey letters across his chest, grinning at her.

“Daniel, it’s, like, Oh-Dark-Thirty, why the hell are you awake?!”

He came over to her. “I couldn’t miss Buc-ee’s - they have the greatest candy selection in the universe!”

“Have you had the Beaver Nuggets? To die for!”

“Nuh-uh, sounds incredibly weird.”

They began walking towards the Travel Center building beyond the gas pumps. “They call it sweet corn - so basically like caramel corn but also like Corn Pops.”

He stopped short, his eyes wide. “ **Dude.** I friggin’ _love_ Corn Pops!”

Maise grinned and took his arm. “Let’s grab all the Nuggets and Nug-ees we can carry!”

“Nug-ees?”

“Those are the savory ones. Like I said, I’ve never met a bag of cheese popcorn I didn’t like.”

They raced the rest of the way, and Maise was fairly certain Danny let her win.

Maise sat in the hall during soundcheck as the boys noodled and jammed, playing various bluesy things and making strange birdlike sounds. She could see why Josh might want to do it, to loosen up his throat, but it was sheer silliness for anyone else, and she was glad to witness it. Behind-the-scenes moments like these were the real reward of being on the inside. 

Dave got on the PA.

“Guys, you’re blowing out my meter. Don’t make me come up there.”

They laughed and promised to behave, then Jake began clucking like a chicken.

Maise’s phone buzzed in her jeans pocket. It was her mom.

“Annaliese - what’s good? Did Thumper poop in your slippers?”

Her mother’s laughter in response made her smile. “Honey, where are you? It’s very loud.”

“Texas.”

“Oh I see. A big envelope came today from Universal, registered mail. I had to sign for it.”

“Ooh that must be my contract for this job, yippee! Thank you kindly.”

“Oh you got it, then? That’s great. Texas - doesn’t Corey live in Texas?”

“Corey doesn’t live _anywhere_ , Mom. He’s never off the road long enough to have a home. And why are you asking about him anyway?”

“I just thought you stayed in Texas with him that one time.”

Maise racked her brain trying to think of specific places they’d gone between tour legs. All she could remember were the meals they’d cooked together, then devoured with plenty of wine. And the fucking. If the term “sex-soaked” could apply to anything in her life, it was those times with him. They always stayed in someone else’s condo, house, or apartment; she was convinced Corey had friends and acquaintances all over the lower 48 and therefore had never needed a place of his own.

“Maybe? I dunno. It’s gonna get even louder, so I gotta go. Love you, see you next week.”

She ended the call and became lost in her own thoughts, almost convinced none of it was a coincidence, but arguing with herself that it couldn’t be anything else.

Even in the abbreviated time Maise had been back on the road, she had grown to enjoy that expectant feeling in a venue before the show: sitting alone in the Production Office, listening to the walk-in music and the crowd, watching what was going on in the hallway, but still removed from that energy coiled and ready to spring. Concerts were about so much more than just the band performing and the crowd watching. There was a mythology to this ritual, and people still believed in it.

Sketching, again, but this time it was Corey’s face which emerged from the pencil onto the paper. Maise hadn’t set out to render him, but there he was. It was the road, she decided, which brought him back to the center of her thoughts.

“Hey doll.”

She looked up to see Josh in the doorway, clad in one of his spangly jumpsuits with a long cardigan over top, something she thought he had obviously found in a thrift store: bright blue with flecks of multi-colored confetti yarn woven throughout.

“You’re not supposed to be talking,” she whisper-scolded and he gave her that grin again.

“I’m okay, really. I’ve been running the vaporizer for an hour. Whatcha drawin?’”

“An old flame,” she replied, feeling herself blush.

Josh looked over her shoulder. “Wow, he’s got beautiful eyes.”

She sighed. “He really does; so unfair.”

Josh looked at her, his equally beautiful eyes going wide. “Wait a minute, this is so weird!”

“What?”

“Uh...there’s someone here who looks just like him.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, uh - I went with Other Ryan to the ticketing office, like, an hour-and-a-half ago, and there were a bunch of guys in the lobby setting up the merch and stuff - local crew, I guess? And he was there, or his twin.”

“He doesn’t have any brothers, so...oh my fucking god, no, it can’t be.”

“He’s blond, right?”

“Yeah. Joshua, this can’t be happening, not right now, oh my god I have to go back to the bus.”

“Darling, it’s kismet! Unless he was a bastard?”

“No, it wasn’t a bad breakup, just one of those things that wasn’t gonna work out. Fuck, what is he doing here?! And I look fucking awful right now, I haven’t slept -”

Maise stood up in a panic and Josh gently took hold of her forearms.

“Hey, it’s okay. You do **not** look awful, you are an incredibly attractive woman and I bet the shock of seeing you, like, totally unexpectedly, is going to throw him for a fucking loop!”

“You are such a good friend,” Maise whispered to him, her voice thick with emotion. “You always know what to say.”

“Joshie!” Micah called from the hallway. “You out here?”

Josh went to the door and waved the other over.

“Hey -” Micah looked at Maise and was immediately concerned. “Are you okay? You’re, like, all pale and shaky.”

“I have an idea,” Josh declared. “You don’t wanna talk to him all by yourself, right?”

Maise shook her head. “I don’t think I can at all, though, honestly.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t. Now listen: Micah will go find him, won’t you?”

The other nodded. “Sure. Who are we talking about?”

“I guess one of my exes is here tonight? For some reason? Working, probably? His name is Corey Golinski and he looks like -”

“- this,” Josh concluded, pointing at the drawing.

“Oh I saw that dude! Like, 20 minutes ago. Yeah he’s with the local crew.”

“Go get him, bring him back here,” Josh commanded.

“What do I tell him, though?”

“Tell him Maise says she wants to introduce Tater to the band, he’ll get it.”

“Uh...okay.” Micah walked out of the room and Josh laughed softly.

“You wanna tell me a story about him before he gets here?”

“Most of them are x-rated, so no. But I’ll tell you guys how he got his nickname, you’ll think it’s funny. But oh my god, seriously Joshie, is my makeup okay?”

“Are you gonna cry?”

Maise took a deep breath, shaking out her hands and jumping up and down a couple times. “No, I’m okay.”

Josh smiled. “Yes you certainly are. But you might wanna, like, fluff your hair. I’ll make sure Micah brings him to our room, just come in when you’re ready.”

“I will **never** be ready, but okay.”

“We’re _dying_ to meet somebody who knew you when!”

“Oh my god, you guys better **not** embarrass me!” But she was laughing to say it.

“Just a little bit, babe - you’re so pretty when you blush.”

In that moment, Maise had the familiar feeling of being on the inside. And she liked it. Contextually she thought it was better to encounter Corey on the right side of their world - her _old_ world, she reminded herself - rather than in a more random fashion. She knew they’d each feel more secure. And he’d know to mind his manners in front of the band, that was hardwired behavior for both of them.

“Get it together,” she said aloud to her reflection as she combed and fluffed her hair, “he’s probably gonna be annoyed but, maybe not. He’s on the job and that overrides _everything_.”

It was true then and it was true now, and that was comforting in a weird sort of way.


	7. ‘The devil I know?  More like the devil I fucked!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is never quite past.

Maise positioned herself in the doorway, looking down the corridor. At any moment she expected to see Micah return alone and she would be _so relieved_ , even as another part of her wanted to see Corey again. Her heart, pounding.

_Fuck, I managed to live for, like, five years without this happening to me._

So strange, when passions long-dormant were stirred. Better? Worse? Who knew.

Waiting, her thoughts were of the past.

_Their liaison had been obsessively passionate and also entirely secret. Technically it wasn’t a conflict of interest because they worked for different bands, but nor did they wish to become the subject of tour gossip - particularly Corey as a member of the executive crew. He was well-liked yet also walked that line between being demanding and empathetic. But he set a good example by working harder than anyone else, and his crew knew he wouldn’t ask them to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself._

_And then she did something unconsciously but probably also entirely subconsciously to out them to everyone. That tour her friend Jill was one of the FOH assistants and one day during set-up Maise came into the hall after getting her merch stand in order and turned on the talkback while Corey was onstage with his guys dealing with temperamental gear._

_“Someone get that fuckin’ hippie off the stage,” she intoned over the PA and everyone cracked up. Corey flipped her off without looking over, but she could see he was smirking as he did it._

_Jill turned to her and whispered “Oh my god you’re fucking him?!” Maise clapped a hand over the other’s mouth and made a **Shut up!** face._

_But really, what else should she have expected? Snark and sarcasm was the way they all flirted with each other. It was entirely obvious that either they **were** fucking, or she wanted them to be._

_At the next stop they had a day off and spent it as usual in his hotel room boning like it was the end of the world. After the first climaxes left them panting and languid he shook his head at her, but his expression was affectionate and his eyes the kind of hue which made her think of a day at the beach...blue meeting blue, looking out at the horizon._

_“Well, **everybody** knows now.”_

_“Are you mad?” she asked him, fingering his golden chest hair, slightly damp with sweat._

_He laughed softly. “I mean, what the hell, you know? Life is too goddamn short to worry about what other people think, although in this case the guys all applauded me, the smartasses that they are.”_

_“All I heard was ‘You’re fucking **him**?!’ and, like, honestly, who am I gonna fuck - the band?!”_

_“I know, right?”_

_“I mean, ewww! **You** are definitely Best in Show.”_

_Corey grinned and Maise’s heart melted yet again. “Tiny **did** threaten to twist my nuts in a knot if I made you cry.”_

_She laughed. Tiny was the 6'2 bus driver for her crew and fiercely protective of his female charges._

_“Well then I guess you better not, huh?”_

_“I **am** ready to make you scream again, though.”_

_“Yeah?” She took his erection in hand. “Damn boy, you are relentless!”_

_“I’m a hard worker...in everything.”_

_She groaned and pulled him on top of her. In a few minutes she was groaning for a completely different reason._

Fully flushed to recall it, all the hours they spent hammering their bodies together, at whatever speed, determined to achieve some kind of orgasmic nirvana. But they had tried to do other things and it never seemed to work. She remembered a day of attempted sightseeing, renting a car, which turned into fucking at a rest stop, unable to resist their sexual chemistry for even an hour. Like neither had truly experienced passion before circumstance brought them together.

“But you talked too, right?” Kat has asked her in one of the many post-mortems she made her friends endure. “I mean, you said you had some pretty deep conversations.”

And they had. Once, Corey was staying in Joshua Tree at some musician’s house and she came to him; they spent a long weekend tripping on ‘shrooms, staring up at a night sky full of stars, having slow stoned sex and talking about... _everything_.

She knew she really loved him, then. But she was also afraid of his charisma. She had already learned there was a price for loving a man like that.

Maise spotted Micah just then, and the person walking beside him was a few inches taller, long-limbed, dressed in cargo shorts and a faded t-shirt, steel-toed sneakers and crew socks, lanyard around his neck, his hair still blond and wavy, falling just to his shoulders. She gasped and ducked inside the room, peering ever so cautiously around the edge of the doorframe. She was trembling to watch him follow Micah into the band’s communal room, thinking about his reaction when Micah had found him.

“Maise? Maise Wells?” he probably asked. “Here?!”

But he came, so he wanted to see her. Or at least that was what she chose to believe. 

_Breathe._

She counted to 30 in her mind - _one Mississippi, two Mississippi_ \- then walked over to the communal room and showed the security guard her lanyard. He nodded and opened the door for her. As she entered, Corey was shaking hands with Sam and everyone turned to look at her, a variety of smiles on offer. Corey’s eyes widened with appreciation and amazement to see her.

“Oh my fucking god, how are you here?!” he exclaimed, then hugged her hard before she could react. And she did the same, an overwhelming sense of rightness in the action made her tear up.

_No crying, c’mon, get it together._

She laughed, taking a deep breath to steady her voice. “Uh...hi, yeah, so I see you’ve met Greta Van Fleet here.”

Corey nodded. “That I have.”

“So guys, this is Corey, we used to work together.”

“Among other things,” Corey added, and his voice was still so perfectly sonorous as it had always been.

She blushed, giggling. She saw Danny narrow his eyes, his mouth slightly agape, but everyone else laughed.

“Yeah so, okay, I’m going to be creating the packaging for their next album. And now, same question, dude: what the **hell** are you doing here?!”

Corey grinned and Maise thought her heart has stopped for a moment. “Well, I was just telling the guys I missed their soundcheck because I had to run down to the union hall for a meeting.”

“You got a union job? Like, pension, benefits, seniority, the whole shebang?”

“Yep,” he replied, holding up his lanyard. It was a Greta triple-A printed with VENUE CREW CHIEF below his name.

“Oh my god that’s amazing!” She gave him another hug.

“I’m livin' the dream, right?” he said with a teasing smile. “But enough about me - girl you look amazing, _wow_.”

Six pairs of eyes on her, and it was the strangest feeling. She was used to appreciative glances - even now - but this level of scrutiny was something else entirely. Maise, who had once endured the glares of opportunistic would-be groupies when officially a rock star’s girlfriend.

“Thanks,” she finally said. “You look pretty much _exactly_ the same, Tater.”

“I cut my hair, sorta.”

“Yeah I see. You’re still a hippie though.”

He laughed and everyone else followed. 

"So what's the whole _Tater_ thing about?" Josh asked.

Corey was smiling at her, so Maise took that as her cue to explain.

"I gave him the nickname Tater because Corey is Irish and Polish, so, you know...potatoes for everybody."

Josh, Jake and Sam cracked up.

"See, they think it's funny because they're Polish too," Maise explained.

"Oh yeah?"

The collective mirth was interrupted by the appearance of the other Ryan.

“Guys, twenty minutes. Oh - hey Corey, I was just looking for you. We're ready for the final walk-through.”

“Yeah, right, let’s go then.” He put a hand on Maise’s shoulder. “You’re not gonna _hide_ on me, are ya?”

She snickered. “Not this time, dude. Come to Hospitality after, I’ll be there.”

He nodded with a smile. “Nice meeting you all, have a great show.”

The two exited and about five beats of slience followed, then her clients began teasing her with whistles and cat calls.

“Girl, that dude is _pining_ for you! Did you stomp on his heart or what?” Sam exclaimed.

“Sammy that was _years_ ago!”

“Nah nah, that was a dude who is _definitely_ pining,” Jake affirmed.

“You guys! Seriously now -”

“I _told_ you,” Josh said, grinning wide. “Didn’t I tell you?!”

“Well, what if you guys ran into one of **your** exes?” Maise shot back.

“Uh, Jake would start running the other way,” Sam gibed, and Jake smacked his arm.

“Ah Jakey, now there’s someone who has definitely broken some hearts, am I right?”

“Without even trying!” Josh confirmed.

“Alright, look - I need to go drink a shot or something, I’ll see you guys later. Rock their faces off, okay?”

“Rock n’roll!” Jake hollered, holding a bottle of Jack Daniel's aloft.

Maise looked back as she left the room and Danny’s stare...she didn’t want to believe, didn’t want to admit...was _anguished_.

The backstage area was empty save for security and venue staff and that was also oddly calming. Maise walked down to the Hospitality room, thoroughly determined - as she had declared - to drink something alcoholic. She thought about how she had started drinking less within the past few years, because alcohol inflames your complexion and reduces collagen, and yet here she was... _yeah_. But she had limited herself to wine because at least it did have some health benefits.

_And how do you know **that** , I wonder?_

She paused outside the door, gently knocking her head against the adjacent wall. 

_Try not to be too much of an idiot tonight, okay? Just see how that goes._

She needed to quell the overriding impulse to go shower and start all over again with hair, makeup, outfit and yet it would be altogether too obvious to do that. And she didn’t look terrible: black leggings with an oversized button-down, her electric blue faux-Chanel jacket on top and her cute suede boots. She walked straight over to the bar at the other end of the room and examined the bottles lined up there, deciding on a shot of Patrón if she could find a shot glass. But further searching made her realize she was just going to have to figure it out for herself, pouring a careful measure into a red Solo cup. She knocked it back and breathed through her nose, sudden warmth in her throat and stomach.

_Oooookay. Damn I could use a hit right now._

But no, she wanted to be mostly sober for the encounter to follow. She listened to the music booming from the stage beyond, trying to figure out which song they were playing. But she was outside of it now, which was probably where she truly belonged.

“I love what you’ve done to your hair,” Corey said.

They were sitting in Josh and Jake’s dressing room - the former having insisted they relocate from Hospitality because it was too loud in there for a real conversation.

“Yeah? I felt like I needed something different, I guess.”

“It really suits you.”

This was small talk, and they had never spoken so small.

“Why are you in Arizona, of all places?” Maise asked.

“I guess you forgot that I’m actually _from_ Arizona?”

“Are you? I guess I did, sorry.”

He smiled. “It’s okay. Last year my dad died -”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks; but yeah, we weren’t exactly on good terms at the time, his lawyer had to track me down. So I came back, he left me the house, and as I’m there cleaning it out I get a call from a local guy I know, tells me I should apply for this job because they want someone with my general experience. And I’d been thinking about how long I was gonna do this, you know, ‘cause, shit, I’m lookin’ at 40 and -”

“Yeah,” Maise said, in complete understanding.

“ - so I figured they’d hire from the inside, that’s how it usually goes, but then they tell me it’s mine if I want it, and if I’m willing to join Local 336. And I figured the Universe was trying to tell me something, so here I am.”

“I mean, I’m sorry it had to happen under those circumstances, but -”

“Yeah, well, at least he left me _something_. My sister got everything else; I guess the only reason he left me the house is because I didn’t have one.”

“It’s funny - you’re living in your dad’s house, and I moved back in with my mom.”

“Yeah? But you guys are close, right? So that’s good.”

“It is and it isn’t. Mostly it kinda fucks with my head.”

Corey took a sip of wine, then grimaced. 

“Is it really bad?” Maise was drinking water, to atone for her previous indulgence. But the tequila had done its’ job: she was calm, even slightly detached.

“Too clean, I’d say. Very little yeast involved in the extraction process.”

Maise chuckled. “I think this all started when I spoke you into my life again. I was telling Josh about how you were into wine. Not a snob, just very knowledgeable.”

Corey let out what was for him a giggle. “And how did _that_ come up?”

“It was totally random. But every time I drink wine I think of you.”

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. She looked at his tan limber legs, blond leg hair gleaming against his skin, filled with a sudden longing to touch him.

“Are you...dating anyone?”

“What, I wouldn’t be married maybe?”

His expression turned slightly embarrassed. “That’s not what I heard, so…”

“Oh my god who is your source?!”

“Now you know I can’t tell you. Just like you wouldn’t tell me who your source is.”

“I don’t have one. None of my friends have worked with you for years, not since you got in with Pogo.”

Corey shrugged. “It was a steady gig, you know? Those are kinda hard to come by these days.”

“Tell me about it. But no - I’ve gone on dates but I’m not _dating_ anybody. You?”

“Nah. I mean, I _was_ dating someone last year but she broke up with me and moved to Thailand to become a digital nomad.”

Maise let out a chortle. “Oh my god, okay, I’m not laughing _at_ you -”

“Bullshit!” Corey replied, but he was smiling.

“ - but the way you said that was _hilarious_. And how old was this woman afflicted with wanderlust?”

“Twenty-three.”

She looked at him, her expression incredulous. “ _Of course_ she was. Yeah, you may be facing 40 but you can **still** snag a sweet young thing without even trying too hard.”

“Are we gonna argue about that _again_? We’re not together anymore and I didn’t even cheat on you in the first place!”

Maise sighed. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. Corey was _so attractive_ to her and so therefore had to be attractive to other women as well, and it raised a mighty insecurity that she hadn’t known before meeting him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just - it reminds me that getting old still isn’t fair for women. And now I’m old enough to be annoyed by it.”

“I”m sorry I couldn’t convince you to trust me. You know if it had been up to me we’d still be together.”

“It wouldn’t have worked.”

“Maybe not, but I would have _tried_ to make it work, that’s my point. Then, now, always.”

“Always?” she asked, entirely afraid of what his answer would be. But also desperate to hear it.


	8. FOMO: a case study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you've loved and lost, you might be able to draw a map for someone else later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay maybe I lied, there's at least one more chapter after this one.

His answer to her wasn’t verbal. He leaned forward, blue eyes meeting blue eyes, and took her hand. They sat there like that for seconds she stopped counting after a while, feeling his roughed palm growing warm against her own. 

_You know._

Five years stood between them - and that was also their age difference - but it wasn’t a chasm anymore, just a period of time in which they’d lived different lives than the ones they knew before. The ones in which they were closer than close.

“You don’t have to do anything, or say anything...I just wanted you to know that,” he finally said, his voice soft and comforting. It was the tone of his voice which had, in part, seduced her when they first met. Corey had always sounded to Maise like he knew who he was, what he wanted, what he was doing at any given moment. His assurance in himself and his endeavors was so incredibly arousing to her; capable men were forever her weakness.

She nodded. “So...we should, like, have lunch tomorrow or something, huh?”

“Sure, there’s a place about four blocks from here - best Mexican food in town, although you wouldn’t think so to look at it.”

Maise chuckled. “I trust you to know all the best places to eat, so, yeah, let’s do that.”

“Find me when you come over tomorrow, okay?”

She took out her phone. “I want your number, though, okay?”

“Yeah sure.” He held up his phone and his lock screen was a photo of a golden lab smiling for the camera. She entered the number displayed into her contacts.

“What a cutie!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah that’s Riley, my BFF and roomie.”

“I have a cat, Thumper, who is large and in charge and the most passive-aggressive feline in the Pacific Northwest, and I love him to bits.”

She called him and smirked to hear his ringtone, the opening of “Message In A Bottle.”

“Oh I gotta change that now,” he said with a laugh.

“Oooh - make it ‘Voices Inside My Head,’” she suggested.

“Not ‘I Burn For You?’”

She flushed, biting her lower lip, marveling at how easy it was to imagine them in their former state, as if the period of time between then and now did not actually exist.

 _Stars will fall from dark skies_  
_as ancient rocks are turning_  
...he sang to her in the middle of a desert night looking up at all those dead suns transmitting across their galaxy. That awe-inspiring sight, combined with the deep chill of the night and ebbing echoes of their earlier entheogenic explorations, made her feel as if she was transfixed in the moment, temporal matters suspended as they looked into the face of the Infinite.

Their blood was speaking to each other as they laid there together, holding hands, the throb and swoosh and pulse. _I know you_ , it said. _I know every cell and sinew and electrical impulse. As no other ever could._

Maise swallowed, made herself look into that lovely blue gaze again. “‘Next To You.’”

He gave that smile she also knew, intimately. “Fair enough.”

Maise sat up front with the driver in the van ferrying them to the hotel, the band and executive crew taking up the seats in the back. Everyone was quiet, either dozing or dazed or in a moment of weary contemplation, as these type of jaunts tended to be. She recalled a similar need for silence at the end of a long night. They proceeded to a resort near the outer edge of the city, and she was a bit surprised that they would splurge like this. She turned around in her seat and caught Micah's attention.

“Here? Really?”

“It’s so Danny can have a few rounds of golf - there’s a course. I mean there’s courses all over the place here but this one is a PGA or something?”

“Ah okay; that will be nice for him, I bet.”

“Yeah he gets antsy if he can’t be physical at least once a week or whatever.”

Maise chortled, it was amusing that playing the drums wasn’t somehow physical _enough_ for Danny.

“Well I haven’t stayed anywhere fancy in forever, so yay!”

“Yep, gotta take the perks when you can.”

Waiting in the lobby for Other Ryan to check them all in, the silence continued, though tired smiles were shared. Josh sat next to Maise, nudging her with his shoulder.

“A real bed, my own shower...wow.”

“I know, right?” she said. “The road makes you appreciate those things all the more.”

She looked across the lobby seating area to where Sam and Danny were looking at something on Sam’s phone. She met Danny’s eyes and his gaze was shy again, though his feelings were plain. His brows knitted and it hit her, a jolt of insight.

_This is all my fault. Because I blew him a kiss._

But Maise hadn’t expected he would actually fall for that. Not from someone like her. And she had to explain, to make him understand that while what she was meaning to express was genuine, he needed to save his affection for someone far less complicated - and younger - than she was.

She gave him a smile, hoping it was at least interpreted as kind.

In her room she collapsed onto the big bed, hoping she would actually sleep deeply this time, but knowing it wasn’t guaranteed. She took out her phone and stared at it. She sent Danny a DM, wondering if he would respond and when he did, she felt relieved. Then she made a call.

“You still at work?” she asked Corey when he answered.

“Final sweep of the night before we lock it up. Where are you?”

“Hotel - that big Marriott at the edge of town.”

“Oooh swanky! I’ve only seen it from the outside, it’s nice?”

“Really nice. Like, _I don’t want to leave my room_ kind of nice.”

“I can just come pick you up there, if you want. I mean, they probably won’t be coming back to the venue until late afternoon, right?”

“Yeah probably. Okay then.”

“I’ll scoop you up around 11, 11:30, okay?”

“Yeah.” It was so weird, Maise could hear an undertone of their chemistry in the way he spoke to her and yet...he was letting her lead the way. If she had asked him to come to her **now** , not tomorrow, she suspected he would. But she couldn’t get entangled in _anything_ right now, though she might want to - if only for the sake of doing so.

Bur Corey deserved to be more than a distraction. For anybody.

“Good night Tater.”

“Good night Maise.”

She could hear so many nuances in those three words, and smiled at all of them.

Maise had witnessed the sunrise in various parts of the world, but an Arizona sunrise is a very special experience. She stood at her East-facing window for a few moments after luxuriously showering and dressing casually to watch the light come over the bluffs and onto the land, deepening the natural hues of a landscape beautiful in its’ starkness.

She was already feeling romantic for this place and rolled her eyes at herself. But it was fascinating.

When she entered the dining room on the main floor she saw Danny doing the same, wearing khaki shorts and a white polo shirt.

“Good morning,” she said, grinning at him. “Ready to get out there?”

Danny grinned in kind as they moved over to the breakfast buffet. “For sure; tee time is at eight. Me and Ryan are gonna play all eighteen, so we wanna be done by lunchtime.”

“And before it hits 110, or whatever.”

“Yeah it does get hot here, doesn’t it?” He loaded up his plate with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage and various pieces of fruit.

“It’s not as bad as Tucson, but yeah. You guys make sure to stay hydrated out there.”

“Yep.” Polite as ever, Danny waited until Maise was done selecting her food and then they found a table by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Maise brought back juice and coffee for both of them.

“I don’t want this to be a _we’ve got to talk_ thing, but -”

Danny shrugged and continued to eat.

Maise took a few bites of her frittata before continuing. “I’m sorry if you were hurt by what happened last night. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you think certain things. I guess I should explain it by saying that when Corey and I broke up, it wasn’t because anything bad had happened. It was all me, I didn’t want to be in that life anymore but it was his whole world, his career. And I couldn’t trust _myself_ not to freak out wondering what was going on while I wasn’t around.”

“Did he think the same thing? Like, you might get interested in somebody else?”

“Maybe, but he never said that. He supported what I wanted to do, like, I had to follow my artistic aspirations. He never asked me to give up anything for him.”

Danny held her eyes as he spoke. “See, that’s how I feel - I want somebody who knows what they want, what they want to do. We’ve been on the road for a while and I keep seeing all these girls with other bands and they’re just _there_. Like, they’re girlfriends but that’s **all** they are; I don’t want somebody like that. And I like that - about you, I mean. That you’ve got your own thing.”

“Danny, I am _way too old_ for you. I mean, I could flatter myself by saying that I’ve still got it or whatever, but if you **do** want to date somebody older than yourself then I would suggest five years at the most. That’s our difference, me and Corey. He’s five years older than me. It was enough that I appreciated it, but also just enough that we weren’t from two completely different worlds.”

“I do know somebody like that. She’s older - not that much older, but older than me.”

“And?”

“And…” He sighed, wiping at his mouth with a napkin, moving what was left of his breakfast around on the plate with his fork. “I think she’s kinda scared of it, like, this whole thing. I think she would date me if I wasn’t in the band.”

“Yeah I mean, it’s a lot. I know that from experience. Have you tried to plead your case?”

He chuckled. “Oh yeah. And I think she’s probably like what you were like with Corey. Like, ‘this isn’t gonna work, not in the long run.’”

“Well, I think if you _try_ , maybe she’ll let you. Make her know that what she wants is just as important as what you want.”

“Would you have let him try?”

Maise felt herself flushing with embarrassment. “No, but, I realize I was probably wrong about that. I wouldn’t change anything I did because I **had** to do it. I had to evolve, as a person, as an artist, and that requires sacrifice. But compromise is important too, some things are totally worth it.”

“Why did you break up with your ex?” Danny asked and given the context of their conversation it seemed a natural tangent.

“Uh...well, it was a situation, I guess. The band was getting really big and he wanted me on the road with him all the time, and I felt like what you were saying about those girls, that I was just _there_. I mean, I was having fun and seeing the world, but it’s not like I didn’t have goals of my own. We loved each other, he was totally faithful and treated me like a queen but...he also drank a lot, back then. He wasn’t a mean drunk or anything but it was becoming a pattern and I was worried. There were drugs around but we weren’t into anything heavy - the most would be to smoke pot and do hallucinogens every so often. And then he went on a vacation to France with his dad and a few of his friends, and they ended up rolling their rental van down the side of a mountain. Not, like, all the way down and nobody got really hurt, thank god, but **he** was driving and I knew it had happened because he was impaired, as they say. But because he was so much older I didn’t feel like I could really talk to him about it, as much as I loved him. Nobody could talk to him about _anything_ , back then. And I just couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much for me to deal with. I didn’t feel like I was mature enough to just accept my role. My friends all thought I was crazy for breaking up with him, but I couldn’t be the person he needed.”

“I think that’s what she’s scared of too,” Danny said, looking out the window. “Like, we’re gonna be so famous I won’t be the guy she knows anymore.”

“Well you won’t be, no. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be the guy she loves. It’s not that hard to be a decent person, honestly: famous, infamous or unknown. I can tell, you know, that you’re a good guy, you always have been.”  
.  
They stared at each other and Maise felt that same impulse again, to do something affectionate, like kiss him. Danny was so beautiful and more than that he was deserving of love. He had so much to give, she could see it in his gorgeous eyes.

“Whoever it is that you fall in love with, she is going to be _so lucky_ to be with you. When I blew you that kiss - I mean, I shouldn’t have, but I totally meant it. _Everybody_ should be blowing you kisses. I’m just not, like, the one who should be _kissing_ you.”

“Not even once?” Danny asked, his expression equal parts teasing and truthful.

Maise put her head in her hands, mock-aggrieved.

“Oh Daniel, I know I deserve to be tortured, but honestly...can you not?”

Maise looked up with a smirk and Danny cracked up. She was so happy to make him laugh.


	9. Interlude: baked by the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some moments of reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make this an interlude because it's in first person. Because that's how it came out and, well, _why not_?

There were hours in which I experienced opposing impulses - back upstairs in my snazzy room, venturing out onto the balcony with a cup of coffee, shielded from the sun and yet the heat was already a presence: heavy and insistent. But also entirely that oft-quoted dry heat which was interesting to me, had always been, the way in which it contained so many impressions. I sat on the chaise and thought about what it all meant. I was on the precipice, but more than one? Or was it all connected?

I dialed the only immutable phone number I knew. Or should I say I let the phone do it for me.

“Hey guess what?”

“What?” my mom replied, probably in the middle of something. I could hear the sounds of some kind of endeavor punctuating the hum of our cellular connection.

“Corey lives in Arizona.”

“See I **knew** it was the Southwest somewhere!”

Part of me wanted to tease her - _oh don’t pretend like you remembered something_ \- and part of me believed she did recall that kind of stray detail. I had brought Corey home with me several times, she knew things about him. Once we had gone camping for five days, hiking into the middle of wooded nowhere. Rather a daring thing to do for any couple, much less one which hadn’t had that much time to **be** a couple, but it had been fine. More than fine. It had been so nice to just co-exist for a time, with nothing else to worry about.

“And that’s where I am now.”

“Arizona? Must be scorching! Phoenix?”

“Tempe. Yeah it’s hot alright. L.A. is next.”

“It’ll be hot there too, of course.”

“Yeah.” I was curious if she had genuinely missed my subtle admission that I had seen Corey again, or if she was holding her tongue because of my previous annoyance at any mention of him. She was good about allowing me to speak of things in my own way, my own time. It was one of the reasons we had a strong relationship now that I was an adult. We had adjusted our expectations of each other, the way people do when they realize that people are people and not just the shapes we project things on and demand things of.

It’s hard, though. Relationships being what they are and all.

“What’s Thumper done today?”

“Nothing much, but it’s early yet.”

I laughed. “I need to do some work, call me if you need me but I’ll see you next week.”

“Okay babe, tell him I said hi.”

I laughed again, it served me right for underestimating her.

I was sprawled on the bed, laptop open and booted up for reference images, digital tablet plugged in. I had begun a sketch of a mermaid, trying to find my way to the style I wanted to use, having set an alarm on my phone so I’d have time to put everything away and get ready for lunch and the trip to the venue. I was being brave: skin care but no makeup; Corey knew what I really looked like and had been wholly in favor of it back when. So I was curious to know if he could now view me in the strong Arizonian sunlight and hold the same opinion.

And if he _couldn’t_ , well, then I guess I had my answer. But he hadn’t been the kind of guy who preferred artifice. Of course age has an interesting effect on one’s perspective.

I had said Corey didn’t look too different and it was true but still...there were signs that the last few years hadn’t always been kind to him and it made him all the more interesting to me. I wanted to know what had happened. But his eyes, those amazing eyes were still so bright. My mom said he had “Paul Newman eyes” which made us both laugh - he sang the line from the song just that way and I was shocked that he _could_ sing. His voice was low, but not a bass. A baritone, I suppose. I couldn’t really sing and yet whenever we sang _together_ , we sounded pretty good. I remembered one crew party where everyone was expected to perform, and most of the crew had that ability, but I had been terrified because I thought I was awful. Corey had said, “Just close your eyes and breathe.” He led me into the song - we’d sang Little Feat’s “Willin’” - and it was okay. No one was judging me, it was just for fun.

When I opened my eyes, Corey had one of those beautiful smiles and his eyes were like a day when you can’t stop staring at the sky - it’s so clear and blue and limitless. Like you forget how beautiful the sky can be, sometimes.

And those same eyes had been waiting to see me again. I knew this. And he might prove me wrong but just like that song I was willing to find out.


End file.
